


Piece of Mine

by YouWouldntUnderstand



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Bumblebee - Freeform, Bumbleby - Freeform, Comedy, F/F, F/M, Romance, Romantic Comedy, body switching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-03-22 22:22:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 71,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13773801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouWouldntUnderstand/pseuds/YouWouldntUnderstand
Summary: Team RWBY never formed. Blake and Yang have lived their separate lives and never met. They are stable as they are, but when their fates are mysteriously intertwined, Blake and Yang are forced to interact and rebuild their new, fractured existences around each other. It’s a disturbing predicament, but nobody ever said switching bodies would be easy.





	1. Paths Collide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rules are the same. In the Garden of Forking Paths, only one future may be lived—the other futures are for the other lives. Team RWBY never formed. They have lived happily ever since.

The Emerald Forest sagged under the summer rain. Little banks of mud pooled at the bases of every tree and wherever the grass dipped or parted. It had been raining for the past two days, and tiny rivers were flowing into standing bodies of water.  The school seemed to rest atop the small hill that led down to the forest, quiet and motionless yet shimmering in the grey. Blake could see the pale glow of Beacon’s spire, even though she shouldn’t have been looking.

In front of her was a syllabus—or what was supposed to be the first of three. Beside her laptop was an index card with a general outline for her syllabus’ format. Elsewhere, she had notes about her course plans. But nowhere, not in her modest house nor in her learning, was there an answer to her question: What was a good first impression? Even in general, she lacked an answer to this. But more pertinently, what was a good first impression to give to _students_?

She had her office hours, the means by which students could contact her, and a placeholder space for whatever course the syllabus would be retooled for. Most professors she had, even at Beacon, considered this a sufficient introduction. However, those professors who went the extra mile and tried to endear themselves to their students stuck in Blake’s mind, and that’s why she tried writing an “About Me” section. She had tried four times.

“Welcome to, [Course]!” the syllabus read. “I am a professor of Literature, Ethics, and History at Beacon Academy, and my specialization concerns the White Fang’s transformations and impacts on Human-Faunus relations. I am an avid reader, a lover of cats, and a huntress.”

Blake wanted to write “—not necessarily in that order” afterwards, but both that idea and the paragraph as a whole seemed painfully disingenuous. And dumb. Golden eyes squinted at her laptop’s holoscreen for a moment, as if solving a puzzle that never existed, taking a sip of her tea. Then something pulled her gaze again, and this time it wasn’t her frustration. Something small and fuzzy had brushed against her leg, and when she looked to her right, she found her cat. Its paws were on her armrest, and it meowed.

“Hi,” she said. “Do you want to write this for me?”

Meow.

“Of course not. You just want to chase bugs.”

Longer meow.

When Blake reached out to pet the marled-grey cat, she was interrupted by its jumping up on to her lap. As soon as it found a suitable place to sit, it looked back up at its owner. “Oh, Silver.” Blake shook her head. “What am I going to do with you?” She could write a paragraph about her cat. That could be fun—it’d certainly make the introduction less awkward. “But you don’t deserve that. Because you’re just a cat.”

Silver lay down, purring. With a sigh, Blake resigned to her position, knowing that she was now a prisoner to her cat’s slumber. She had gotten Silver during her junior year, and her team had taken a liking to her in the same way they had taken a liking to Blake: that is, for about a week. This little fuzzball had gotten her through so much—injuries, finals, grad school. And now they had a house of their own. Well, it was kind of leased to her by the academy, but her belongings were here, and she liked how the other teachers in the villa kept to themselves. One hand roamed across Silver’s ashen fur while the other closed her syllabus document, deciding not to save. She opened a new document and stared at its blankness.

She did this for a few moments. It was blank. Then it was still blank. And then it was intimidatingly blank. Therefore, she turned away, taking a pen from a mug and beginning to draw on the index card beside her.

Blake started with some wings. She didn’t know where she was going with this, but she knew wings were a good place to start. Once she had a rough outline of the wing, she moved on to the back, then to the tail feathers. And when it came time to draw a head, she decided this bird would be a seagull. Really, it was the only bird she could draw—thanks to Ms. Maugancorp’s Intro to Drawing class, she could only draw an assortment of fruits and this one dumb seagull. But, somehow, not together. It was a class she had looked forward to at first, but it turned out to be a class that completely wasted her time. At least it was an easy A, and at least the bird turned out all right. For the most part. The feet, due to fading interest, had become stick feet composed of three lines each.

And no time at all had passed.

Would Silver mind if Blake moved her? Probably. Did Blake care? Unfortunately.

With this in mind, Blake turned back to her document and tried again. “Welcome to [Course]!” she wrote, foregoing contact information with the knowledge that she’d probably delete this draft, too. “I am a professor of Literature, Ethics, and History whose specialization deals with White Fang transformations and their effects on today’s culture. I have recently received my master’s degree in History from Beacon Academy, and this will be my first semester—”

She stopped here. For some reason, this introduction just wasn’t working. She deleted it, feeling herself get frustrated. Why couldn’t she do this? Why couldn’t she just say something _real_ about herself? Why did it always have to be about the things she did? Why not the person she was?

Blake was sweating.

She could feel herself beginning to stick to her clothes and her clothes beginning to stick to her chair. Silver awoke, raising her nonexistent eyebrows. The Faunus’ breaths were coming harshly now, and her vision was fading. In her panic, Blake reached for her neck, trying to check her pulse. It was way too fast, and when she tried to calm herself with deep-breathing exercises, inhaling deeply with the intent of exhaling slowly, her vision went blank and the rest of her senses became muted.

This lasted for what seemed like only a few seconds in Blake’s panic, but it could have been much longer, too. Whatever the case, Blake’s physical senses came back quickly.

Quickly, harshly, and all at once, and they brought acute pain and burning right along with them through her entire body. She experienced a nauseating surge of vertigo before falling and hitting the ground heavily, her right arm twisting under her and pulling a ragged cry from her lips.

Blake’s entire body felt like it was bruised and on fire. Her heart was pounding in her ears, racing desperately as if trying to overcompensate for the loss of something, and she was drenched in sweat. She couldn’t get back up. Her muscles wouldn’t obey.

Another screech was heard, and she thought it might have come from her, but that thought vanished in an instant when she realized that she was not in her house and that the creature approaching was most definitely not Silver. Far, _far_ from being Silver. It was a Grimm. A Geist, in its Petra Gigas form. It towered with the trees.

Blake’s huntressing instincts kicked in immediately, foregoing any confusion about the change in scenery. She could indulge her confusion later. Right now, she was facing imminent death. Her body was still in massive amounts of sudden pain, and her muscles still refused to respond, but that giant rock monster wasn’t going to wait for her to get up. Blake had no other choice but to push through her agony and force herself to move. It was excruciating, raising herself to her knees, wave after wave of searing pain coursing through her veins, scorching her like rivers of traitorous magma.

Her vision was still all wrong—dimmed—and her heart wouldn’t slow, but Blake got to her feet, trembling and unable to use the arm she fell on. She felt completely off-balance, there was the metallic taste of iron in her mouth, her knees seemed to be on the verge of buckling, and that Geist was only getting closer—dangerously so. She couldn’t fight it. There was no way. Gambol Shroud was nowhere to be seen and she was in no shape for acrobatics. She had to run.

So, Blake took a limping step to turn away from the Grimm creature and almost fell down again, cursing how disorienting and muted everything felt. At least that monster wasn’t too fast on its stone stumps—or, at the very least, it didn’t seem to be in any hurry to finish her off. Maybe because she would likely die anyway, even if she managed to escape.

 Blake didn’t know where she was. All she knew was that she was surrounded by trees—not the regular kind of the Emerald Forest—and that she had to get away somehow. She took another step, reaching out with her working arm to lean part of her weight against the nearest tree trunk. There was something yellow covering most of her forearm. It was shiny and plated—Blake’s mind registered a metal grieve of sorts, maybe armor. She didn’t own anything like that. It didn’t matter.

She pulled herself forward and took a few more agonized steps, knowing that at this rate the Geist would catch her within the next few moments. She didn’t want to die. Whatever was happening, she still had a lot of things she wanted to accomplish. Places she wanted to see. Students she wanted to teach. Wrongs she wanted to right. No matter how she had gotten here, Blake did _not_ want to die.

* * *

Yang jolted, gasping as she hit the floor, her world spinning. Immediately, there was a hissing noise and a patter of clicks and scratching, but those soon faded to nothing. Yang moaned and rolled over, staring up at the plain taupe ceiling for a moment, dizzily watching it twirl. There was a ringing in her ears and she could feel her heart pounding in her whole body.

And then she realized.

 “Son of a—”

Another hiss interrupted her, and Yang sat up straight, breaths heavy and shallow. She looked around for the source of the noise, senses groggy yet oversensitive, and noticed a grey and white cat nearby, baring its small fangs at her, fur standing on end. Was that—? Was this…?  What? _Whatever_ this was, it was highly anticlimactic.

Yang remembered her injuries and pain, all of which she suddenly couldn’t feel anymore—at least, not really. She still felt a numb, tingling sensation where her wounds should have been, but the pain was gone. Frantic and still panicking, Yang scrambled to her feet, forgetting about the small feline, and felt herself over rapidly.

For one thing, she couldn’t find any injuries. Like the pain, they were gone. And as odd as this was, the observation did help Yang breathe easier. For another thing, she wasn’t wearing the same clothes, which was even more bizarre. Also, her arms were slimmer. And…her boobs were smaller, too. Yang’s eyes widened, a new sort of panic taking over. She was about to hurry and search for a mirror, but then she stopped and took a deep breath in.

 _I’m dreaming_. “I’m just dreaming,” she muttered, trying to convince herself further. That’s what it was. There was no other explanation. She was in a battle with a Petra Gigas and it… It had been about to kill her. She didn’t want to admit that, even in her mind, but the thought made her shiver. She had done her best, and now this was some sort of near-death experience. It had to be.

Maybe she’d make it out alive, but…

Yang shook her head. Whatever was happening, she needed to make sense out of it. If she was going to be stuck here for the duration of a dream, she may as well keep active in case she woke up or—

Yang pushed her mind to a more benign—if not happier—place and finally observed all the papers on the desk in front her. Notes on top of spreadsheets on top of books. It looked like a lot of work. Jokingly, Yang wondered if she really had died and this was her punishment for something terrible she had done in life. Because, to be honest, she had done a lot of terrible things—some of which she was even proud of—and this terrible drawing of a sparrow on the desk was the cherry on top of her just desert. This may not have been the fire and brimstone kind of afterlife, but all that paperwork was pretty much just as bad.

Whatever the case, it couldn’t be real. And that thought sufficed to calm her, for the most part. She would wake up—or she wouldn’t—and still have her D-cups. At least, she’d have the knowledge that D-cups were the reality of things. Not this…whatever this was.

Feeling more confident about the impossible nature of her situation—everything seemed so vivid and sharp, after all—and laughing a bit at the…choiceness of her priorities, Yang tested her boobs again and decided they weren’t too much smaller than her regular chest size…and were actually a little firmer, too. She could live with that for the duration of this dream. She shrugged and then squeezed again for good measure. Yeah, they were good.

But then a quiet growling noise made Yang remember the cat.

She switched her attention to the feline, seeing that it didn’t look any friendlier than before. It was creeping closer. Yang tentatively stretched out her hand, murmuring, “Good kitty. I’m not gonna hurt you. Don’t eat me.”

It bared its fangs again.

Yang narrowed her eyes. “Don’t make me eat _you_!”

The cat stopped its movement forward, though, and Yang came to the conclusion that she wouldn’t get hurt anyway. None of this was real, right? She could do whatever she wanted! As such, Yang walked past the cat, which pawed harmlessly at her leg, and stopped by the window behind the desk to look outside. It was pouring out there—Yang could hear the rain ping and thud against the roof unnaturally well, to the point where it was honestly annoying—and the fog made it hard to see past the fifteen-yard mark. The only things she could make out were the silhouette of another house and a gravel road fading into the fog. Yang creased her eyebrows as she tried to make heads or tails of the situation, scratching her abdomen absentmindedly, and then she paused.

Something was different.

Well, duh. But something was _different_.

Yang lifted her shirt and stared at her stomach. “Weh!” she quacked, genuinely disappointed. Her abs weren’t as defined, and she was…slimmer, in a graceful sort of weird way. Also, her skin was paler—sort of olive—and smoother, as if she hadn’t gone outside all that much. What kind of dream even was this?

 _That’s it_ , Yang decided. It was time to find a mirror. Because, apparently, out-of-body-Yang was totally changed in appearance.

There were two doors here, a proper one along the longer wall and a sliding one along the shorter. Yang decided on the second for the sake of adventure. She finally put her shirt down and wandered out of the small room—what had seemed to be an office—and found herself in a very modest living room that lacked a holoscreen. There was a sectional wrapping around a glass coffee table with some books on it and a large bookshelf not far away with even more books within. Books, books, books…and more books. Punishment.

“This is…totally death.” The words didn’t fail Yang this time. She knew she was only joking, even if doubts still festered in her mind’s darkest corners. “Crap,” she said, trying to smirk. “I’m so dead. And now I have to live with a cat.”

It’s not that she didn’t like cats. It’s just that they were untrustworthy and mostly conniving. All they wanted was affection on their own schedule and food whenever they demanded it.

That stupid grey cat was following her, likely looking for a meal or an apology that Yang probably owed it for being hurt by its poor, poor claws. It had such a bad posture, spine arched the way it was. But Yang disregarded it as best she could. If she was going to be dead, or if she was going to be dreaming, she might as well enjoy not giving a darn—because what could hurt her now? She passed the books she would never read and the living room she would never use—mostly due to the lack of worthwhile entertainment—and went to the kitchen. Maybe they had ambrosia here. Or pizza.

But just as she stepped into the linoleum heaven, Yang paused, catching something at the corner of her eye. For a moment, her spine went rigid and her adrenaline surged again. She saw a flash of black moving in the same direction as her—had the Geist followed her? Was this not a dream? Was she even dead? 

Yang clenched her fists and pivoted on feet that, for some reason, weren’t accustomed to the movement. She looked all over for that specter, ears deafened under the rain or her panic, and she was ready to continue fighting. That is, until her eyes landed on the mirror she had stopped searching for.  Yang lowered her guard and hurried over to it.

In front of the blonde was a girl with black hair. This was…a really weird dream. If this was supposed to be an out-of-body experience, and if she was supposed to be having this right before she died, why did her mind cling to _this_ image? The girl before her had golden, almost honey eyes, and she stood about the same height as Yang—or maybe a little bit shorter, but Yang could forgive herself for not knowing how tall she looked. This girl before the blonde had hauntingly catlike features, eyes curved upwards at their outer corners and pupils faintly, but not certainly, slit vertically. Yang smiled, perhaps at the strangeness of everything or at the fact that the Geist wasn’t here, and even this girl’s smile looked like a cat’s, what with her sharp canines. Not in a spiteful way, though.

“Well, hello, gorgeo—” But then Yang cut her vanity off, interrupting the pose she had meant to strike. In a small, awed voice, she observed, “I have cat ears.”

Yang could feel something on her head wiggle, and when she moved a hand to touch whatever it was, making sure the reflection was _actually_ a reflection, she found a pair of velvety-soft ears. And with their touching came a loud, scratchy noise, as though Yang really could hear with those things. Oh boy. “Does this mean I have some deep-seated want to become a Faunus or something?” From her right side, the cat, back still arched, hissed again. She amended, “Or is this God’s way of teaching me how to forgive cats?”

She pushed one of the ears down and watched it flick back up to attention, wincing somewhat at the slight noise it made. She noticed her hearing was way, _way_ better than it used to be, and probably for the worse. “If I get out of this alive,” she sighed, “I need to find a shrink. I thought _my_ life was supposed to flash before my eyes or something, not someone else’s.”

Then, as if disregarding that last sentence, her eyes scanned left and right—not for the Geist or for that cat, whose judgments meant nothing to the near-dead blonde—before her hands reached up to touch her not-D-cups again. “Who even am I?”

This began a search across the house. Yang knew it to be a house because there were a few things she could tell by looking out the window: this place was level with the ground, there did not seem to be any neighbors attached to this building, and there were two doors leading outside, one to a foggy front lawn and the other to a rainy backyard with a complicated monkey bars setup. Whoever’s house this was, if this house _was_ anyone’s, Yang could not be sure. It was devoid of identifying articles—no bills, no awards, no photographs—and it was organized, too. Well, except all those stacks of books. And the papers with illegible notes on them, which were only illegible because they had a bunch of jargon Yang didn’t care to read.

What she did find, though, was a bedroom. It should be said that Yang considered herself a good person. Growing up with a younger sister and having to be said younger sister’s surrogate mother, she knew what personal space meant and why it was important. So, even though this was a dream, barging into and rummaging through someone else’s room, which seemed so unshakably real, was still a bit…taboo. But, at the same time, Yang had to know why she was here, why she was suddenly a Faunus, and why she wasn’t fighting that Geist anymore. She held her breath and entered.

Whoever’s room this was, it was just as organized as the rest of the house. The bed was made with an almost military level of meticulousness, and the closet, although drawn open, revealed a rack of clothing that had been separated by color, function, and whatever other classifications Yang could not fathom. What caught her attention, though, was a single, almost out-of-place pennant hanging on the wall beside this bedroom’s window.

It read: “Haven Academy.”

What a weird dream. It wasn’t anything necessarily unique—heck, Yang had once dreamt she was Zwei, which was fun, so dreaming that she was someone else and that she was in an entirely different kingdom wasn’t completely unfounded. What was weird about _this_ dream, however, was the context. Yang had engaged a Petra Gigas-form Geist, and had been winning relatively, until one of the boulders she broke was replaced by another, larger one, which had unfortunately come from right behind her. Again, this dream wasn’t unfounded—she had been knocked out more than a few times and had dreamed during a few of those instances—in fact, her Zwei dream had been a result of one of those knockouts—but considering how she always remembered these dreams in hindsight and never in the moment…

What was important was that she wake up—and _soon_. Just because she was unconscious didn’t mean the danger had gone away. Yang could still feel her heart pounding inside whoever-this-was’ chest. But despite the urgency, Yang felt calm, and everything was so _detailed_. Maybe she was already dead and this really was some kind of afterlife, punishment or not.

Amid the mysterious home, the unfamiliar body, and all the cat’s hisses, a pit of dread dropped heavily into Yang’s gut at this reminder of probable death.

Ruby.

If Yang was dead, or even on the brink of death… _Oh_ …Yang wanted to throw up. She wanted to punch and destroy something suddenly, but… _Ruby_ … Oh, God. Her sister was going to be devastated. She was going to be alone. She was a big girl now and had grown up into such an amazing, sweet, kind, strong woman, but…

 _Oh, God_.

Yang’s legs gave out. She hit the floor not nearly as hard as she expected, and her back thudded against the wooden bedframe. But she didn’t care—she just wanted to wake up— _needed_ to.

_Wake up!_

She growled in her throat. This wasn’t working. “Wake up!” she shouted, all the previous humor having left her and someone else’s voice coming out at the top of her lungs. But she didn’t care about either of those things. Yang was going to die, and her body wouldn’t even let her resist this fate.

She groaned miserably, screamed what she could, and then her emotions and words finally collapsed in on each other into a series of choked, resentful sobs. She tried to hold them back, tried to stay strong and will herself back into the realm of the conscious. But nothing worked. She was still stuck in this house, in this body, and she was going to die. It wasn’t even a possibility anymore. It was reality.

“Ruby…” was all she could mutter. Tears burned all the way down from her cheeks to her chin, and she felt weak. Thoroughly weak. Like she could fall through the floor. Even her fingernails digging into her palms lacked the heartful strength they used to have. She just wanted the numbness to be over. She just wanted to go home to Ruby.

Yang sat like that for a while, trying and failing to hold back tears for the sister she’d leave behind and racking her mind for some sort of awakening willpower, until a fuzzy presence sidled up against her. When she felt something coarse and warm press against her shaky hand a few times, Yang looked down at the feeling’s source. It was that cat—that grey and white jerk—and it was trying to comfort her. In response, unsteady fingers ran weakly through its fur and moved to scratch its ears. Yang felt dizzy, her heart racing again, probably because of the sudden surges of emotion in this short amount of time—the conflicting calm and stress, the worry and the comfort, the coming to terms with just how alone Ruby would be—but this cat made things a bit easier. Just a tiny bit.

Yang looked ahead at the bedroom’s closet. Its doors had mirrors on them. Yang saw that her foreign, golden eyes were bloodshot, and her makeup had begun to run. The cat was curled up against her side, not purring but not hissing. And Yang was going to die.

* * *

Blake powered through the agony by sheer force of will and, with a frustrated, pained cry, broke into a heavy, teetering sprint. Her boots collided with the dirt loudly, each footfall sending excruciating shocks through her legs, and she had to hold her broken arm against herself, but she never looked back. She was too weak. All she cared about was escaping. And she tried to accelerate, tried to keep her momentum by using her good arm to push forward against the nearby trees, but the more she ran, the more labored her breathing became and the less oxygen she had to keep her going.

To say the least, a dirt path so close to her location had not been on the list of things Blake had hoped for so soon. And when she stumbled forward onto it, left with nothing to keep her upright, she fell to her knees again, panting harshly and staring at the ground, both wondering if this was some sort of miracle and how she’d find the strength to get up. Splatters of red appeared on the dirt beneath her face, and Blake quickly realized she was bleeding. No surprise, really. Her injuries felt like they were extensive and covering almost the whole of her body.

She couldn’t stay here. She had to get up. She had to keep running. The ground rumbled, followed by loud cracks and leaves rustling, and Blake tiredly looked behind her, seeing the ominous shadow of the Grimm approaching through the trees. She moaned and coughed before forcing herself to her feet once more, breaths coming ragged and uneven. Her peripherals were starting to turn to black. She wasn’t going to last much longer. Her body was shutting down.

Blake focused on the path ahead of her and began running again, sharp spikes of pain shooting up her legs with each step and threatening to make her knees buckle. She must have been functioning almost entirely on adrenaline now. How she was even capable of continuing on in this state was beyond her.

There were dark spots that had appeared in her vision, and Blake thought it was because she was about to pass out, but the spots were getting bigger and becoming more distinct by the second. They were people. There were people running to meet her. For all Blake knew, she was in the middle of nowhere and couldn’t fathom how this was possible, but now they were in danger, too.

“Go back,” she tried to yell, but her voice only came out in a rasp and she started coughing again. This slowed her down, but she kept trying to warn them, to tell them to get away while they still could. Unfortunately, they only kept coming closer. They were all going to die. Blake included.

Her strength gave out. She felt herself start to fall, but someone caught her by the shoulders and forced her to look at them in the eyes. But Blake was losing consciousness. She couldn’t even make out their face properly.

“We’re here to help!” the person exclaimed, shaking her, trying to stop her from fainting. “Stay with us! You’re going to make it!”

It was a nice sentiment. Blake held on to it as best she could. “You need to leave,” she muttered, gripping the man’s jacket tightly—mostly to keep herself upright. Her voice—and everything else, really—seemed so distant and foreign.

“We are. We’re leaving and getting you to safety,” he assured, and now he was the one holding on to her, letting her lean most of her weight on him. Someone else took hold of her soon after, and Blake felt herself lifted off her feet. Her head rested on something warm and firm, and she wondered if she might just have a chance of making it after all. But she was so tired, in so much pain, and nothing felt right. She couldn’t even feel her aura. It was as if it were gone.

Blake tried to stay conscious. She was aware that she was being carried, she could hear very distant yelling and the Petra Gigas screeching, but no matter how hard she battled to remain awake, to figure out what was going on, she couldn’t do it. It all was too much. Her body went limp in the arms holding her, her eyes closed, her breathing slowed, and then there was nothing.

She opened her eyes again about a second later.

For a moment, Blake was confused, as if she had just woken from a vivid dream, staring at her closet like it would provide an explanation, and then she blinked a few times and rubbed her face. She was in her house. In her room. With the rain pouring outside and her cat curled up against her leg. There was no Grimm, there were no people, and she was not being carried.

Blake let out a long sigh—half in relief, half out of being at an absolute loss. Silver rustled and then moved onto her lap, where she sat and stared up into golden eyes curiously. She meowed and then pushed her head against Blake’s chest, and Blake ran her fingers through Silver’s fur absentmindedly.

There were several questions in Blake’s mind vying to be addressed first. Nothing made sense right now. She had no recollection of walking into her room or sitting against her bedframe—a strange action for her to do in the first place. One moment she had been trying to write a syllabus and the next she was running for her life from a Petra Gigas. And now she was back home. But she didn’t remember falling asleep or even being tired. In fact, she remembered sweating and having a far too fast pulse before…before…

What, exactly? What had happened?

It couldn’t be a dream. Blake had felt incredibly disorientated and the… _event_ was equally dimmed, somehow, as if she’d been looking through fogged lenses. But the pain had been so real, the sheer panic and total change of scenery so _whole_ …

Blake’s heartbeat accelerated a little, the singular memory causing some of the stress to return. She scratched Silver behind the ears, trying to find some comfort. Blake had been in her fair share of battles and desperate situations, and some of her past injuries had been life-threatening, but she had never been so close to death. The experience was not pleasant—and that was an understatement.

She groaned and passed her hand through her hair, and it was then that she caught sight of her reflection in her closet’s mirror. She did a double-take when she realized her eyes were puffy and some of her makeup had run.

“Did I cry?” she muttered, quickly wiping her eyes in confusion and embarrassment—not that Silver would judge her for shedding tears or that there was anyone around to notice this slight, but Blake hadn’t cried in…years. Had this…vision really affected her so much?

But there was still the question of how she had moved from her office to her bedroom. Blake felt like she was missing a piece of the puzzle—several, really—and the picture she was trying to see was abstract at best.

She could try retracing her steps. Maybe there would be a clue to jog her memory. Blake took Silver and put her on the floor before standing. She crossed the hall and made her way into her office, cat following right behind her, and paused. Everything seemed to be in its place, nothing disturbed, except the open sliding door leading into the living room. Blake didn’t remember opening that. Nevertheless, Blake sat at her desk. Her laptop’s screensaver had come on, a number of koi fish swimming around in gentle circles, and this made Blake narrow her eyes. It was set to come on after ten minutes of inactivity.

Blake took a deep breath in and slowly exhaled. If the event had only been a dream, she doubted it would have lasted as long as it did or carried her into another room. The unconscious mind worked fast, after all. Ten or more minutes had elapsed, as proven by her computer. Then Blake actually checked the time, and although it didn’t reassure her much, she calculated that around fifteen minutes had gone by. This meant the amount of time that had apparently elapsed was equal to the amount of time Blake felt like she had been escaping. It must have been a vision of some sort. She noticed her cup of tea on the desk beside her laptop, and her gaze froze on it.

Carefully, Blake reached for the cup and brought it to her face. She breathed in, smelling the tea and searching for any unnatural odors. There were none. It was just green tea, no milk or cream or sugar or anything else added to it. She even tasted it again to be sure, but it was absolutely normal, albeit cold.

 _Okay, so I wasn’t high_.

Blake put the cup back down and creased her eyebrows. It was disquieting, knowing what being on the brink of death felt like. Faced with her own mortality, Blake realized how much she wanted to live. She had pushed past her limits, had fought through the agony and ran despite the wounds and lack of aura if only to give herself a chance, however infinitesimal. But why had this…lesson, if it could even be called such, manifested itself so suddenly and so strangely through a vision? It didn’t make sense. And Blake didn’t like not knowing how it happened because it meant she did not have control over it, whatever it was. It could happen again. Maybe it wouldn’t, but it _could_ , and the simple prospect of it occurring during one of her classes mortified Blake. Her body had moved from one place to another without her knowledge and reacted to the vision by itself. If there was a next time, who knew what her body would do? The thought was a little scary. Her reputation was on the line.

_What had triggered it?_

Silver meowed just then, demanding attention. Blake looked over at her, and the cat jumped onto the Faunus’ lap once again. Blake sighed. “You saw what happened, didn’t you?” she asked the feline, but Silver only blinked at her calmly, expressing affection. “If only we spoke the same language. You’d think I could understand at least half the things you yowl about.” Blake couldn’t, of course. She hadn’t been brought up to understand kitty-talk. What a story that would have been.

And while she was on the topic of stories, the young woman remembered the syllabus she was failing to write. Blake didn’t know what to think of the vision, she couldn’t explain it or fully comprehend it—nor could she be sure if it would happen again or if it was a one-time thing—and while it certainly worried her, that syllabus needed to be written. As much as she was tempted to try and find out more, Blake knew her priorities.

She wanted to teach. She wanted to share her knowledge with her students, if only to help them understand the world they lived in and to encourage them to make morally sound decisions. They were the future and the guardians of Remnant. Having an impact on their lives had been one of the motivating factors that urged Blake forward when she was faced with imminent death, somewhere at the back of her mind. That much was _real_ about her, she knew now.

It might not have been much, but it was certainly a start and it was certainly tangible. Blake cared about others, and she cared about shaping the world in some way or another—it was what she had tried to do over and over again throughout the multiple stages of her life. And now she may have actually had a chance at doing it right this time.

With this, Blake found the inspiration she needed to write her syllabus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’ALL THOUGHT I WAS DONE WITH FAN FICTION? YEAH? WELL, ME TOO. BUT I’M BACK AND STILL SPINELESS, AND WE’RE ALL GONNA SUFFER FOR IT. BUT THIS TIME’S GONNA BE DIFFERENT! (!) I SHALL WRITE A NOVEL. LIKE, THIRTY CHAPTERS. OR SOMETHING. THAT’LL GET ME LAID, RIGHT?
> 
> Anyway. So, yeah. Novel. The plan is thirty-something-or-so chapters with word counts between 6,000 and 15,000. It’s gonna take a while, so settle in. Failure to keep your arms, legs, and children inside the NOVEL at all times will result in mild disappointment. :(
> 
> Also, full disclosure: I DON’T WANT TO GET LAID. NOT THROUGH FAN FICTION. DO YOU REALIZE HOW HUMILIATING THAT WOULD LOOK ON MY RÉSUMÉ? 
> 
> With that settled, I shall see you yonder morn, mine lovelies! Ich liebe dich. Yes, dich. <3


	2. Windows

When Yang became aware again, she felt cozy—that was a good word for it. Everything was light and fluffy, from the bed beneath her back to the sunshine on her skin. She couldn’t see these things, of course, as she was trying to return to her slumber after having just woken up, but she knew everything was good. Good and peaceful.

Her nose tickled, though, and that was a problem. There were also songbirds outside, keeping her awake, but Yang didn’t have a problem with them. She liked birds. They were fluffy and light, too. It was summertime—May—and Yang felt wrapped in a familiar airy blanket with a realer, stuffier one draped across her legs. She shifted a little uncomfortably but found the action a bit too difficult, so she stopped. But then that tickling on her nose worsened and began to move. Yang twitched her nose, and the tickle moved again, faster. Her eyes shot open in alarm.

 _Bug_.

“Gack!”

Yang slammed her hand onto her face, wishing death upon that _thing_ that had disturbed her peace. Unfortunately, that thing had won. Yang, in fact, missed the bug, which decided to flutter away casually, and ended up hitting her own nose with all the force she could muster.

The blonde released an ugly, guttural, moaning, and argh-ish noise as she curled in on herself. She found, however, that the pain did not end there. Yang realized her joints were sore—really, _really_ sore—which set a fire that made her curl up even more, even though this further exacerbated everything. Life was suffering. Her muscles were in so much pain.

Through this pain, however, Yang could hear some not-long-to-live girl’s laugh from beside her bed. “Oh, my God. Yang!” Well, maybe the girl would live for a little bit. “You gotta see this! I took a great picture of that!”

Yang, in her searing agony, wrenched her eyes open, burning crimson locking on her sister. “Ruby Rose! This is not the time! I am _dying_!”

“Same!” squealed Ruby, rushing over to the side of Yang’s bed and bringing her head and scroll up to the blonde’s face. “Look! You see? I got a picture of you almost slapping that little butterfly. You look so constipated!”

They were in a hospital room, it seemed. Ruby was leaning against the arm rest of Yang’s bed—which turned out not to be her bed, after all—and the window was open—which was probably where that pest had come from. Not Ruby, though; the other pest.

“I’m in _pain_ , Ruby! I just punched myself in the face, and my entire body is on fire because of it, and you want to show me a _picture_? I could be dying!”

“Well, good thing you’re in a hospital,” Ruby chirped. She had a dumb smirk on her dumb face as she moved away from her sister—a smart move. Ruby put her scroll away and pouted a little. “Don’t think they can do much to fix your melodrama, though. I’m afraid it’s terminal.”

Yang groaned, forcing herself to uncurl and get back to her previous lying position with a “Blargh.”

She could see her surroundings better now. The window was open, the bed was not her own, and both pests were still here. Ruby had that same, low-key serious expression she had formed during her time at Beacon, but her usual cheer and that stupid smirk on her face proved that she wasn’t _completely_ serious. Plus there was that pink sweater of hers, featuring a bunch of puppies playing around. She had brought flowers, a bug-bringing breeze shifting them in a vase beside Yang’s bed. Everything seemed normal and taken care of…which reminded Yang of why she was here in the first place.

A shock of pain coursed through her body as she tried to sit up. Immediately, she clutched at the sensation’s source but found the rough material of a cast covering her right arm. Yang relented, but the pain lingered and flared in the rest of her joints.

“Probably don’t wanna do that,” said Captain Obvious. Yang, breathing heavily, lay down again— _again_ —and stared daggers at her sister. “You kinda broke your arm. Twice. But the good news is that it isn’t your writing hand.”

“I’m right-handed, Ruby.”

“Oh. Huh. Well, at least you’ll be able to go home today!”

“How long was I out?”

Whatever positivity Ruby had in her expression and sweater faded. She bit her lip, fumbled with her hands, and looked away. Yang’s heart sank.

The mission had been fairly straightforward: take out a Petra Gigas that was getting too close to a village just outside of Vale. Yang knew the monster well, as she, Ruby, and the rest of their team had defeated a couple back in the day. As such, she felt comfortable facing this one solo—but only after she had been begged into accepting backup. As it all turned out, her plan hadn’t worked. Ruby looked more…seasoned than when Yang failed her mission. Maybe Yang had been in a coma. Between Ruby’s existent fashion sense and the confident-ish way she carried herself, it seemed as though she had led a decent life without her sister. So much must have happened to her. The thought stung Yang more than her arm ever could. She must have missed so much.

Ruby released a shaky breath. “It’s been…” she said before swallowing hard, “twenty-five years.”

Suddenly, that stinging sensation didn’t hurt so bad. Yang squinted. “Twenty-five years.”

Ruby nodded, not bearing to look her sister in the eye. “It’s been so hard not having you around, Yang. You’ve missed so much.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Dad found another wife, Auburn and Elly were killed, and…I’m getting married, Yang!” Silver eyes found lilac, shining with conflicted emotion. She was such a bad liar.

The blonde stared blankly at her sister. “Ruby,” she said. The young girl flinched at the cold sound. “How long was I out?” The girl in question tried to answer, but Yang cut her off. “And don’t tell me ‘twenty-five years’ again because I know you, and it would take _so_ much longer for you to start liking anyone.”

“…It’s been a day.”

Yang brought her good hand to her face and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t care if I’m right-handed. As soon as I get out of here, I’m disowning you.”

Ruby pulled out her scroll again, panicked. “But Yang!” she said, scrambling. She shoved the scroll in her sister’s face. “The butterfly!”

Whatever relief Yang felt at realizing she had missed nothing—and that what she _did_ miss was probably for the best—disintegrated with Ruby’s fleeing from her fate. That girl was gonna get disowned so hard. “I don’t care about the butterfly!” Yang swatted Ruby away with her left arm, and the younger sibling got the message, backing away and laughing.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” Ruby snickered. Upon seeing Yang’s narrowed glare, though, she physically tried to wipe the grin off her face with the back of her hand. Ruby cleared her throat, and although her smirk somewhat remained, the look in her silver eyes did become more serious—maybe even a bit sad. “I was actually worried about you for a while, there. You were…” Ruby sighed. “You were in really bad shape when they brought you here. The doctor said you almost died.”

Yang’s frustration immediately cooled. She couldn’t stay angry at Ruby, especially not like this. And she remembered bits and pieces now of her fight with the Petra Gigas and how dire her situation had been. She was lucky to have had backup—and stupid to have resisted it in the first place.

It was the blonde’s turn to sigh. She motioned weakly for Ruby to come closer. “Hey, get over here.”

Ruby looked up, surprised, but when she saw her sister’s tired but affectionate expression, she smiled and came back over to Yang’s side, even climbing onto the bed and cuddling up to her. This caused more pain to shoot through Yang’s muscles, but she clenched her teeth and managed to wrap her good arm around the smaller girl. She could only imagine Ruby’s fear—had their roles been inversed, Yang would have felt the same, if not even more frightened. “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, sis,” she murmured.

“I know,” Ruby replied. “You’re a tough cookie.”

Yang found herself smiling. “And don’t you forget it.”

They were both silent for a moment, and the brawler’s thoughts began wandering to her failed battle. Her smile faded. It had started out well enough. With Team SSSN as her backup, Yang had made her way to Sandhurst, the little village a couple dozen miles outside of Vale, and after getting proper rest at the only inn in town, she’d gone out in search of the Petra Gigas—alone, promising Team SSSN she’d send a distress signal if she needed help. It hadn’t taken her very long to find the monster, maybe a couple of hours at most. She’d been absolutely ready for it, and the initial encounter had Yang at an advantage. Thanks to her strength combined with the brute force of Ember Celica, Yang had rendered the creature limbless pretty quickly.

What she hadn’t expected was a massive boulder catapulting out of nowhere into her back and knocking her to the ground. The Petra Gigas found its limbs again and did not give Yang the chance to recover. She had barely gotten on her feet again before a tree trunk slammed into her front and sent her careening into another rock.

It was sadly ironic that the more damage she received, the more powerful she was supposed to become. And, normally, she would have been. Her semblance had flared up no problem. But the Petra Gigas threw her around like she was some ragdoll, incapable of reciprocating the damage, and Yang’s aura ended up…

Well, it broke. And so had her arm.

Yang closed her eyes.

Ruby eventually interrupted the silence, though, somewhat to Yang’s relief. “Funny story, actually. This isn’t the first time you woke up. I mean, like, you probably don’t remember this because you were so high on morphine, but last night you grabbed my arm really tightly and gave me this super serious look and told me you didn’t want Jell-O. And then you went to sleep again. It was…a thing.”

“I still don’t want Jell-O.”

Ruby giggled. “Okay. I’ll tell the nurse to stop feeding it into your veins.”

“Oh, God.”

“It’s a joke. Nobody gave you Jell-O. But those drugs were really effective.”

Yang opened her eyes. “Not effective enough, apparently, because I’m still hurting all over.”

Ruby sat up to look at her older sibling in concern. “But other than the pain, are you okay? You’re looking better today thanks to the aura boosters, but you were covered in bruises and cuts yesterday.”

“I’ll survive. I’m okay, Ruby.”

The younger girl nodded, a somewhat grave expression on her face, but then she smiled again. “I’m glad you’re all right.” She stood up, adding, “I have to go, but Sun said he’d be around to pick you up. Make sure you get some rest while you can.”

“Sure thing,” Yang replied, watching as Ruby started for the exit.

She stopped by the door, though, and looked back, hand on the knob. “Love you.”

The corners of Yang’s lips twitched upwards. “Love you, too, Rubes. Take care.”

Ruby grinned and then left the room.

Yang was once again by herself. She stared at the door for a moment longer, but then her gaze drifted to her other side, towards the open window. The birds were still chirping, the butterfly still fluttering nearby. She dragged her hand over her face, wincing, and suddenly remembered that her mission hadn’t ended with a broken arm.

She had passed out. And then woken up in someone else’s house…and in someone else’s body. Yang blinked a few times, instinctually looking for a mirror somewhere, but then relaxed. Ruby had recognized her—she was herself again. But that begged the question. Had it even been real? Yang had been convinced it was. Yet Ruby had also mentioned the morphine. But that didn’t explain how Yang was saved. She passed out before getting anywhere close to the village. Had it been a dream, after all?

Honestly, Yang was just confused. For all intents and purposes, that dream could have been a _really_ vivid out of body experience. But the drugs made it hard to validate. Yang would have to ask Sun what had happened. In the end, he and his team were the ones who probably got her out safe and sound. They might know more.

* * *

Before Blake was a class of about twenty-five students. She was not entirely certain of the number yet, as the whole _everything_ about this situation was still a bit unnerving. But Blake felt confident, or at least more confident than she had at the beginning of the period. Standing at the center of the amphitheater lecture hall, Blake felt a little exposed, first- and second-year teenagers watching every move she made. The class was not _that_ attentive to what she was saying, but she found that they did listen to her and without as much required effort as she had anticipated. It was a surprisingly forgiving situation, all things considered, and it allowed Blake to find her teaching legs.

She had just finished discussing the syllabus—all the major assignments, test dates, and course expectations—and no one had any questions. Either they understood and the syllabus did its job or they didn’t care to understand and didn’t ask anything accordingly. Only forty minutes had gone by, but there was about a half hour left until she would let them go early, being that it was Syllabus Day in a normally three-hour summer semester class and no one _actually_ wanted to be here, so Blake proceeded with her plan.

The Faunus, clad in a white off-the-shoulder sweater and black everything else, leaned her lower back against the front of the room’s central desk and crossed her arms. She smirked a little, feeling mildly pleased with the question she was about to ask, but then she uncrossed her arms to place her hands behind her, on the desk. She then re-crossed her arms, preferring the first position over the second. Her smirk was difficult to maintain.

“So,” Blake started, eyes scanning the room for both interest-gauging purposes and to see if anyone had thought she was awkward. She wished she didn’t feel so self-conscious. The tank-top under her sweater did not make her feel any less naked up here. “As this is an Ethics class, and you are all here to learn about ethics, I want to ask around and figure out _why_ you want to learn about this subject. What _is_ Ethics? I would like to hear your thoughts.”

The room went silent for a moment, but Blake felt assured that she had not yet lost her students. She, too, had paused when Professor Foret asked this question, almost six years ago. But, after a moment, a brave hand rose out of the tiered seats. The young huntress-in-training was an immediately shy-looking girl with curly, ruddy hair and striking hazel eyes. She seemed a little ashamed of her hand being up. Blake made the effort to smile at her, cueing her to speak.

“Ethics are moral codes…and conduct, um,” she looked down and scratched at her syllabus, looking for any kind of help within, “that may be defined by…culture, politics, religion, background…” Her eyes cast even lower down. Her face was burning red. “I’m sorry, I don’t—”

“That’s quite all right…Faraday, was it?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“You’re on the right track, I think. The definition of ethics is still up for debate in a lot of circles, so being uncertain about what it means does not reflect poorly on you at all.” Blake looked to the rest of the class. “Does anyone else have ideas?”

“It’s morals.”

“Good business practices.”

“A social construct.”

Blake nodded along to every response she was given. As the answers numbered higher, so too did student interest, some quieter students speaking up when they otherwise wouldn’t and some who already answered wanting to correct themselves based on their classmates’ insights. But there was one boy whose answer would make Blake shudder. She had heard a scoff from the far corner of the room, and her initial instinct was to avoid whomever made the noise and pray that whatever he had to say would never reach her students’ ears. Unfortunately, she was a teacher, and it was her duty to encourage classroom engagement and hear every voice. With a steeled resolve, Blake smiled at the boy and welcomed his opinion.

“Actually,” he began, his voice as snide as Blake had ever heard, “I see ethics as a sort of social force that regulates and deregulates the morals and social principles within the subaltern when faced with issues of their own existentiality. Some would like to say that it’s a method of proving what is right and wrong, but that is a myopic opinion that only distracts from the true, utilitarian reason: defining things as per their pragmatic functions which conduce to a better society.”

Blake blinked. Then she blinked again. So did the rest of the class. That was one way of saying a whole lot of _nothing_. “Thank you…Jasper—”

“I’d prefer to be called Ouron, thank you.”

That boy…had a problem.

“Like the video game character?” asked another classmate, tone a little disbelieving.

“Certainly. It is the mark of a true man to live his life after his role model.”

Blake had to stop leaning against her desk for a moment. It took an inhuman effort not to cringe at…Ouron’s introduction. Nevertheless, while her face did not betray her pain, it felt as if all of her insides were turning over and in on themselves, and her cat ears, uncovered for all the class to see, were leaning back against her head in empathetic shame.

“That’s…That’s great. Thank you for contributing,” Blake had to control herself. It was only her first day on the job, and she couldn’t afford to call this student out for being pretentious or downright stupid, but goodness did she want to. Instead, she looked at the time and decided that five minutes before her anticipated limit was a good time to let everyone go—if not for their sakes, then for her own. “Okay. Well, those were great answers, everyone. I hope you’ll be able to figure out what ethics is by the time we’re finished with this course. Make sure to do the reading for the next class, and I hope you all have a good weekend.”

Her class sprung to life with students gathering their books and papers, rising from their seats, and beginning to chat with one another. Blake watched them for a moment, staying where she was long enough to say goodbye to the few of them who thanked her as they walked out the door. Eventually, though, Blake turned and took a seat at her desk as the class emptied, scooping up her own papers and putting them in order.

She was surprised, though, when the last three students in the class stopped in front of her desk instead of continuing on their way. Blake looked up, finding two girls and one boy, with one of the girls leading the charge. They were three out of the four members of Team AFTR—Argent, Faraday, and Tope—and Argent, with her big, knowing blue eyes, gave Blake a cheery smile.

“Thank you for your class today, Professor Belladonna! Your method of teaching is super clear and concise. I liked it, and my teammates and I look forward learning more from you.”

Blake was almost taken aback. She glanced at Tope and Faraday, the former nodding in agreement and the latter blushing a step away from the others, not looking Blake in the eye. The Faunus returned to Argent. “Um, thank you, Argent. I appreciate that.” She found that she did mean this—it was nice of them to go out of their way to stop and genuinely compliment her.

“Yeah! Our pleasure. We’ll see you on Monday!” Argent beamed and started walking away, followed by Tope.

“See ya, Miss B.,” he waved back with a warm grin.

“…Have a nice weekend,” Blake replied, somewhat uncertain at the shortening of her last name. She then found Faraday still lingering, still not looking at her, clutching her books to her chest. “Are you all right, Faraday?”

The girl seemed to blush again, and she glanced at Blake before nodding vigorously. “Um, yes! Have a nice weekend, too, Miss Belladonna!” And then she hurried out after her teammates.

Blake watched her go, slightly confused, but then she slowly shook her head and returned to her papers. She was by herself in the amphitheater now, the hall somehow eerily quiet without the students populating it. Blake allowed herself a long sigh—out of relief or satisfaction, she wasn’t sure yet. She had just taught her first class ever. It had gone by smoothly, all things considered, despite her initial nervousness. And she thought she would enjoy her role, too. It really hadn’t been all that bad.

There was that Jasper—er, Ouron—boy, who made Blake want to smack a student already, but she gave him the benefit of the doubt. This had just been the first class, after all.

Her gaze was drawn to the syllabus she’d written and the introduction of herself that she had settled on. It read, ‘Welcome to Philosophy 102: Intro to Ethics. My name is Blake Belladonna, and I am a huntress, teacher, and former member of the White Fang. As hunters dedicated to the protection of Remnant, we are united by a noble mission, no matter what lives have brought us here. Tolerance, open-mindedness, and a willingness to be a member of a team are requisites of success, not just for a student of Beacon Academy but for any hunter or huntress in the real world. My goal for this course is not to teach you right from wrong but to give you the tools to effectively communicate your ideas with others and productively discuss them.’

She was proud of it, actually. It revealed something real and true about her without focusing on _what_ she was, but rather on _who_ she was, and it worked for all three of the subjects she was teaching.

…Still, she was a bit disturbed by how she had managed to come up with it. Why had it taken a vision that forced her to face her own mortality to realize this message? What had that vision even been? How had it happened? Blake had yet to find any answers for those questions. And she feared that the event could happen again at any random moment and ruin the reputation she had carefully reconstructed piece by piece after leaving the White Fang. Her body had moved without her knowledge from one room to another—who knew what else could happen during any similar episode?

It was unsettling. There was no guarantee it would happen again, of course, but the possibility made her anxious. Would she have to see a therapist? That was an option she didn’t want to consider just yet. She had just started teaching. She wanted to keep her job.

Blake let out another sigh. She gathered her papers and neatly tucked them into her bag before standing up and pulling the strap over her shoulder. After giving the amphitheater one last glance, she headed out.

The walk from the Academy to the teachers’ housing area was about twenty minutes in all. Unlike yesterday, the weather was beginning to clear up, the clouds not perpetually hiding the sun or pouring rain. The air was a bit _too_ humid for Blake’s taste, not entirely comfortable in the warmth of summer, but she liked the opportunity to stretch her muscles.

That’s what she would do. Once she got home, she would work out. Blake would jump on the monkey bars she had set up last week, train her core and her balance, and wear herself out until the memories of her class, Ouron, and Team AFTR could be shoved into a tiny memory compartment in Blake’s mind-attic that she could look back on fondly. Today had been a good day, she decided, and all the little hiccups would be eliminated by endorphins. That’s what she would do.

Blake pulled her bag’s strap tighter against her shoulder and hurried down the hill of Beacon Academy, through the entrance to the Emerald Forest, and into her house in the teachers’ village.

* * *

Yang didn’t like hospitals. Sure, waking up in that bed with the flowers and the stupid bug earlier might have been nice, but now that she was out of her room, she was reminded why she didn’t like this place. Everything smelled faintly like peroxide, and everybody seemed to be in some mood ranging from meh to bleh. However, if nothing else, Yang was contented by her wheelchair. She liked wheelchairs. She wouldn’t get to keep this one past the exit, but she was excited to zoom around until then. As it was, the discharge nurse was having a hard time stopping Yang from wheelie-ing. Yang probably couldn’t do it anyway, but that didn’t stop her from trying.

“Miss Xiao Long, I’m serious,” the nurse said. “No stress on that arm for a month—no weight lifting, no punching, no wheelies—”

“What about sex?” Yang asked. “I have a _lot_ of sex.”

“Congratulations,” the nurse deadpanned. “Your cast should come off in two weeks but only if you make sure to meditate and stay active—active like us normal people, not like you all.” The nurse, seeing Yang’s grin start to bubble up, clarified, “Like huntsmen. You can have sex so long as you’re careful. Try going on walks, exercising your left arm, doing careful core exercises, and going swimming if you make sure you’re gentle about it.”

“Can I remove this sling when I go to bed?”

“Of course, just so long as you’re _careful_.”

Yang’s smile persisted. She wanted to joke a little more, but the nurse had been nothing but kind to her. Plus, she was still _kind of_ in pain, hence all the drugs she had in her body and on her lap beside Ruby’s flower vase, and all of that made the thought of exercising repulsive. Just awful. “All right,” she acquiesced. “Fair enough. I’ll try.”

The nurse was able to smile at this. “All right. I’ll hold you to that. And you,” she looked over, gaze turning to the open-shirted, chisel-y muscled, feathered-haired hunk of a Faunus leaning against the desk behind her, “I expect you to keep a close eye on her. Someone needs to be responsible, and while I do think Miss Xiao Long has the capacity for it, we gotta make sure.”

Sun Wukong genuinely grinned at the woman, not at all teasing or double-meaning or lascivious like Yang. “You’ve got my word, ma’am. I’ll treat her like a princess.”

The nurse looked back at Yang. “Congratulations.” The two shared a laugh, although Yang’s was quite a bit louder.

As soon as the paperwork was taken care of and the discharge was finalized, Sun finally wheeled Yang out of the hospital. It was not an easy trip for him, as Yang kept insisting he speed up. “Push me faster,” she had said, eyes trained on the distant exit with glee.

“No, Yang, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Push me faster, monkey boy!”

Being that Sun was basically Yang’s partner in crime despite his unwillingness to admit it in public, it was only natural that the monkey boy did push Yang faster, if only marginally. This earned Sun a side-eye from the blonde, but they were happy to reach the exit in little time at all, quickly or not. Well—correction—Yang’s happiness was a little iffy. The exit meant she had to relinquish her wheelchair to a nearby attendant, but at least she was free again. But no more wheelies. But sunlight!

It was bright and warm outside. Yang found herself momentarily blinded as she looked out at the adjacent parking lot, the sun reflecting off of hundreds and hundreds of windshields and mirrors, and she felt her skin begin to slick with the humidity in the air. But that was just how Yang liked summer: unabashedly summery. Sun had been kind enough to pick up all the things in Yang’s lap while shouldering the backpack Ruby had brought for her, and this left Yang to her own devices. “Come on, slowpoke,” she said, beginning to hobble forward, each step making her wince a little but all the progress making her smile. “Time’s a’ wastin’.”

“Yang, you’re really high.”

“Psshhhhhhhh,” Yang waved with her good hand. “I’m just holding it for the doctor.”

Sun laughed. “What does that even mean?”

He was following close behind Yang, seemingly ready to catch her at a moment’s notice. But she wouldn’t need catching. Yang was just too good at walking. “It’s a drug joke!”

As it turned out, the drugs were _definitely_ making Yang a little more excitable than usual, and she was not unaware of this fact. She just resisted the fact and denied that it even existed. She was Yang Xiao Long, survivor of a one-on-one Petra Gigas fight, owner of two broken bones, and walking— _by herself_ —not a day after. She was feeling pretty good, believe it or not.

Eventually, she stumbled her way to Sun’s car. It was a beat-down, worn-down, hand-me-down brown sedan he had apparently bought for a great price, and he had since put a lot of love into it. As had Yang. Especially in the back seat. Yang found herself giggling for no particular reason by the time she got there, leaning on the car’s roof and loving the way it didn’t burn her cast. It was like an arm-sized oven mitt. Baking would never be the same. Soon, the trunk opened for a moment as Sun carefully set Yang’s belongings inside, holding on to the flowers to be held by her eventually.

Yang did her best to strike an attractive pose as he came around to her side of the car, and she likely succeeded, considering she was Yang, but all that amounted to was being pulled into a gentle hug. Sun had set the vase on the roof and was now kissing Yang’s forehead. He didn’t say anything, much to Yang’s surprise. All he did was squeeze her tighter and let out a deep, heavy, and relieved sigh. It sobered Yang’s mood and medication a little, and she hugged back as best she could, making him the same promise she had made Ruby: she wasn’t going anywhere.

Sun was a sweet guy. They met during Yang’s first year, during the Vytal Festival. Ruby, Yang, Auburn, and Elly had welcomed him when he arrived by himself ahead of schedule, and, when the rest of his team followed, everyone became fast friends. Or, rather, Ruby, Yang, Sun, and Neptune did; everyone else was kind of awkward and ended up ghosting each other. After graduation, some mission brought Sun back to Vale, he decided he liked it here, moved all his things, found a part time job with a moving company, and took up a modelling gig from _Hunky Hunts_ , the world’s premier hunter and huntress modelling magazine. The dude was working three jobs, and he always had energy to spare. That’s what initially made Yang fall for him.

However, as reliable, energetic, and hunky as he could be, Sun could also be kind of thoughtless, too, and failed to take into account that Yang had a broken arm slung across her chest as he hugged her. She was in searing pain.

“Sun, babe, honey, baby, sweetie, please. I’m happy to be here, too, and I want to hug you as well, but could you maybe ease up a bit? I’m not as durable as I usually am.” Yang winced through every word but maintained a semblance of a smile. She knew that if she _really_ showed the pain she was feeling, it would absolutely kill Sun. As it was, he scrambled back, hands out and eyes wide.

“Holy crap. I’m so sorry, Yang! I didn’t realize—”

Right on cue. Yang amusedly shook her head and stepped forward, wrapping her good arm around Sun’s neck and _gently_ pressing her face into his shoulder. As for her other arm, she left a good, safe amount of space between them. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got drugs to take the edge off,” she joked. “Plus, you smell good, so the pain’s worth it.”

Tentatively, Sun patted Yang’s shoulder like a good, frightened friend would—like he frequently would with Neptune, only stoking the homoerotic embers against his best wishes. Yang was beginning to understand how far down the pain-killer high went. She nuzzled into Sun for a second, pulled away, smiled, and pecked him on the lips. “Okay,” she said, forcing herself to be at least a little serious for a second, “let’s get going.”

Sun nodded and moved to open the passenger door. Once Yang was inside with her seatbelt on, he handed her the vase, which Yang hugged and placed in her lap, and closed her in. It was at this point that Yang realized how not-good her state was. Sitting down in the suffocating heat of Sun’s car and with roses in her face, Yang finally felt how nauseas she was, how pain radiated from every part of her body. She groaned a little as Sun plopped down into the driver’s seat, shaking the chassis.

“Hoo!” he exclaimed, exhaling shortly. “I’ll get those windows down.”

The engine took a while to turn over, and Sun kept his word the moment it did. Suddenly, all the lightness and levity of Yang’s opiate-induced world turned sour, and everything seemed sickeningly detailed but frustratingly fuzzy. The windows squealed as they inched their way down and the air conditioner spat hot air through the flowers and onto her face. She felt the car lurch once, twice, and once more before Sun got them out of the parking lot.

As soon as they were on the road, Sun released the shifter to place his hand at the end of Yang’s cast. She grumbled but accepted the gesture, being that it was suddenly the only nice thing around her, and intertwined their fingers. She could smell the roses and she could thank Ruby for them, but she did not want to do either right now. She just wanted to…

“Sun?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“What…happened?”

“On the mission?”

“After I passed out.” She creased her eyebrows. “I don’t remember you saving me.”

Sun glanced over at Yang, meeting her concern with his own, and squeezed her casted hand before looking back at the road. “Everybody in Sandhurst came out to help you while me and my team took on the Gheist. Do you remember that part?”

“N-no, how did you all find me?”

“It’s more like you found us. You ran out of the forest, holding your arm and yelling at everybody to stay back. The Gheist was right behind you before you passed out.” He frowned. “It seemed like you didn’t even recognize us—or me. You just wanted everybody to run.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Slow down.” If Yang didn’t have a cast on with a sling over it, and if she didn’t need her good arm to hold on to the flowers, she would have scratched her head. “I passed out in the forest, after that thing slammed me into the ground. I was definitely _not_ in the town.”

“You definitely _were_ in the town. You were literally screaming at us to get away.”

No matter how hard Yang tried to jog her memory, she had no recollection of warning Sun and his team to get away. But she did remember passing out. Just…not at the time Sun was insisting she had. Yang leaned her head back against the seat and let out a sigh. Maybe she had been hallucinating the whole time—although she didn’t really believe that. “All right. I guess I lost a piece of my life, then. That sucks.”

Sun was immediately reassuring. “Hey, it’s okay. It wasn’t all that much, right? And the important part is that you’re safe now.”

Yang closed her eyes. There wasn’t much to be done about it now, anyway, and Sun was right. Still, no matter how small, it _was_ a part of her life gone… “I had this really weird dream,” she eventually muttered.

“Dream?” he prompted. “While you were unconscious?”

She tried to shrug, but found the movement impossible. “I guess so. I was inside this other girl, in some unknown house with some cat…” Her voice trailed off, thoughtful. She opened her eyes and added, “I touched her boobs a few times.”

Sun glanced at her, appearing unsure if he should laugh. He settled for something that resembled a smirk. “How’d that go?”

Yang, although still feeling somewhat miserable for no apparent reason—drugs, probably—found herself grinning. “It wasn’t bad at all, TBH.”

Now Sun actually laughed. “So, you pass out in the middle of battle and dream about touching girls?”

“Are you jealous?”

“What if I want in on the action?”

“Oh, my God, Sun. You’re so jealous.”

Sun scoffed. “Why would I be jealous when I have you?”

Yang started to feel her pep return. She waggled her eyebrows. “It’s the boobs, isn’t it?”

Sun looked over at her, and Yang batted her eyelashes at him, using the sturdiness of her cast and sling to prop her chest up, before slowly licking her upper lip.

“Stop that!” he exclaimed, quickly returning to the road, but his laughter joined Yang’s. “How can you be so flirty this soon after coming out of the hospital?”

“Um, hello? Have you met me?”

“Hi, Yang.”

She giggled. “Hi, babe.”

They shared an affectionate look, and Sun squeezed her hand again. The young couple fell into a comfortable silence, Yang’s gaze drifting out the window, watching the buildings flash by, one after the other, cars in the other lane interrupting intermittently. Sun was driving her to the harbor and then to her home on Patch, where she lived with Ruby and their father, Taiyang. Yang doubted the next day or two would consist of anything more than healing, but she was anxious to recover, if only to be done with this medication and return to her usual workouts.

Something else was bothering her, though. It wasn’t just the pain she could still feel in her muscles. The mission had almost killed her—and between the strange out of body experience and nearly dying, Yang was feeling a deeper uncertainty that she tried not to think about. But it existed nevertheless, and Yang thought about taking all the time she needed to recover fully—and then some—before putting herself out in the field again. She was scared, honestly. And maybe she recognized it within herself, but she wasn’t willing to share that fear with anyone else—not with Sun and _definitely_ not with Ruby. She was Yang Xiao Long. She wasn’t supposed to be afraid of anything.

After going through the hassle of loading Sun’s car onto the Patch ferry and offloading it once they got to the island, Yang’s mood improved a little. The air was cooler on Patch, and Sun’s car felt breezy, finally, instead of suffocating. Of course, the whole thing still rattled, and even more so on these uneven roads, but it was nice to be among the wide-canopied maples and oaks and the soothing ocean breeze.

They pulled to an eventual, whining stop in front of the log cabin that Yang had long called home. She found herself simply looking at it, feeling happy to be here but unenthused about how long she would likely be bedridden, stuck doing nothing with her life. But she was able to relax when Sun put his hand on her shoulder, thumb kneading reassuringly into the knots that had formed. She looked at him, smiling a little sadly.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

“Promise me you’ll visit?”

“Every day.”

She leaned in, and he met her halfway. Their kiss was short but thankful, and Yang kind of wished it lasted longer, but her back spasmed and she had to pull away with a wince and a knowing smirk. “This means I owe you a kiss next time you visit.”

“The only thing you owe me is you getting better.” Sun smiled back at her, squeezed her aching shoulder one more time, and left the car, coming around the other side to help Yang out. “Though I’ll be sure to take you up on that when you can _actually_ kiss me.”

Once Yang was on her feet, she slugged him in the arm. “ _Actually_ kiss you? Whatever.” She shook her head mirthfully but looked up to him. “But fine. I’ll get better. I’ll be sure to drink as much orange juice as I can.”

“I feel like you’re not taking the nurse’s orders seriously.”

“Meds, sleep, and exercise. And unhealthy amounts of sex.”

“Okay, I feel like you’re taking the nurse’s orders seriously.”

“What can I say? I have a great respect for the medical profession.”

Yang tried to shrug all cool-like while saying this, but she once again realized that her arm was broken. Mistakes or not, she was the epitome of cool. At the very least, Sun thought so. He returned the vase he had taken so Yang could get out and then went back to the trunk to retrieve her things, chuckling all the while.

With backpack and medication in hand, Sun helped Yang hobble up to her front door. By the time they reached the end of the flagstone walkway, though, that door had opened, and Yang’s father appeared at the foot of it, concerned.

Taiyang did not rush out, but he did hurry to reach his daughter, half-jogging the distance between them. “Yang!” he said, a little hoarse. “I’m so relieved.” Yang was anticipating a fair amount of drama, considering her dad was her dad, but she surprised herself at how relieved she felt, too.

He came to a stop some three feet from the couple, and he looked like he would close that distance and hug Yang. But he showed restraint. Instead, a hand reached out and held Yang’s shoulder as his eyes glanced over at her arm then up at her eyes. “I didn’t know until Ruby told me, but…thank God you’re in one piece.”

“Well,” Yang corrected, a smirk on her lips, “technically it’s three pieces.”

“I can see that!” Taiyang let out a weak laugh. It seemed he didn’t actually want to do so but he and Yang both knew he needed to humor her, for both their sakes. He looked to Sun, still uneasy. “And thank you for the support. I don’t want to think about what would have happened if you and your friends weren’t there.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, sir. Just happy to lend a hand.”

Taiyang’s affectionate eyes turned on Yang again, and the hand on her shoulder moved to her cheek. With her good arm, she reached up to hold that hand. It was her way of saying she was okay, and her dad seemed to understand that.

Sun, meanwhile, released his arm from around Yang’s waist. “Um,” he said, stepping away, “yeah, I’m just gonna set this stuff down inside…”

He started to distance himself from them, but Yang let go of her dad’s hand, which he dropped, and gently touched Sun’s arm. “Hey, wait. Gimme another kiss before you go.”

Sun’s blue-grey eyes lit up, but then he glanced at Taiyang, who was beginning to cross his arms, and proceeded to look sheepish, letting out an awkward chuckle. “Uh, how about just a hug?”

Yang narrowed her eyes at her dad, daring him to argue when she said, “No, a kiss. Ignore my dad.”

Taiyang cleared his throat, expressing his disapproval, and Sun approached Yang cautiously. “Let’s not push it. Just a hug.”

Yang sighed and rolled her eyes, accepting Sun’s hug as he wrapped his arms around her—softly this time. “All right, fine.” Her lilac gaze found a glaring cobalt one, and Yang, as an act of defiance to both her father and her pain, raised one foot into the air behind her, pretending to swoon by Sun’s embrace. And then she whispered into her boyfriend’s ear, “See ya later, babe.”

“Take care of yourself,” he replied, seemingly oblivious to the silent confrontation between his girlfriend and her dad. The young couple then pulled away, and Yang must have won some kind of battle against Taiyang because he stepped forward and oh-so-kindly took the medicine and backpack from Sun.

After an uncomfortable goodbye, Sun went back to his car and was soon driving out and away on the dirt road. Yang waved with her good hand until she could not see him anymore. And then, because of the drugs, she felt like waving some more. Her dad had to stop her.

They started walking back towards the house. As they did so, Yang mulled over the previous interactions in her mind, and finally asked, sobering, “You know I just turned twenty-four, right?”

“So?” Taiyang opened the door and let his daughter in first.

“So, why do I need your permission to kiss my boyfriend?” She glanced at him and then attempted to kick off her barely tied boots, only managing to do so with an annoying amount of effort.

Taiyang waited until she was hobbling towards the kitchen to answer. “Because you live here, and as long as you live here, I still consider you my baby.”

Yang snorted, putting the vase down on the kitchen’s center island. “Ruby’s your baby.”

“Ruby’s not in a relationship.”

“Ugh, whatever.” Yang decided to let it go. It wasn’t like the subject was anything new, and it wasn’t like her father had an issue with Sun, specifically, anyway. Taiyang was just protective, and he generally distrusted any guy Yang dated—like they were all some sort of predator or something. She turned back to face him. “Anyway, so speaking of the devil, where’d she go?”

“Well, it’s Friday, and your sister’s twenty-two, so she’s in Vale for the evening with her friends.”

If Yang could have thrown both her hands up in outrage, she would have.

“Why are you giving me that look?”

Yang’s eyes widened. “Why does Ruby get to use the age excuse but I don’t?”

Taiyang smirked. “Because you’re not twenty-two, Yang.”

“ _You_ …”

There was a pause, both adults engaging in a pointed staring contest with each other. Yang had a boyfriend and things to do. And, often, these two overlapped. For the longest time, Taiyang had not cared what she did or who she did it with, but now, after she had graduated, he had apparently decided to flip the switch on being a father again. Despite her flirts and inappropriate sense of humor, Yang was far and away the most responsible member of her family. For this reason, she steeled her lilac gaze and bore her deepest frustrations—namely, not being able to kiss her boy toy—into her father’s face.

 And then, when the staring became too much and Yang decided she wanted to blink, she cracked first. She grinned. “Whatever. I’ll beat you next time, old man.”

Taiyang chuckled, the tension in the air dissipating. “Maybe. But your _old man_ ’s got a few tricks left up his sleeve, so don’t count on it.”

“Uh-huh, yeah. Well, anyway, I’m gonna go lie down for the next month or two because my back is _killing_ me. Lemme know when dinner’s ready, please.”

Taiyang’s voice followed her up the stairs. “Isn’t it fun getting old, grandma?”

Yang would’ve bashed her head against the wall if she wasn’t already in so much pain. “You’re a walking contradiction, _dad_!” she yelled back at him, finally reaching the top of the stairs. “Make up your mind! Either I’m your baby or I’m the other mother around here!”

“Sleep well, sweetie-pie!”

“Shut it!”

* * *

There was something inherently disturbing about a pair of aquamarine eyes staring suspiciously at Blake, unblinking. They somehow made Blake feel self-conscious about hanging upside-down, and she found herself glaring at her cat, daring Silver to protest her exercises.

But Silver just kept staring from the window, as if she were angry at Blake for leaving her inside the house while her mistress continued her gymnastics on the monkey bars she had in her backyard. Blake wondered what it said about her that her own cat managed to make her feel inadequate. This had to be a joke. The not-funny kind of joke.

The Faunus internally rolled her eyes and then set about continuing her exercises. With forearms crossed over her chest and core and back muscles pulling her up, Blake breathed evenly and focused on her inverted sit-ups. She held at her apex for about two seconds each time before lowering herself back down. In this way, and in this routine, she brought herself into a sort of meditative trance. The movements became automatic, and although she did feel the exertion this workout put on her body, she felt like a kid again—before the White Fang—running around with the neighborhood children on Menagerie, having the time of her life and staring down at the sand from the monkey bars of a mostly forgotten playground.

She was fortunate to be here, she thought—Beacon. Out of the four academies, Beacon had a reputation for being the best. She had studied here for both of her graduate degrees, and while this academy’s world-renowned rigor had almost beaten her multiple times, Blake came away happy with what she learned and how confident she felt with the information. Atlas Academy was known to have a similar level of rigor, and it had a great reputation, too, but Blake knew it to be a school that churned out military officer after military officer. Atlas made hunters quickly, but their overall ceilings were lower than the students of Beacon due to their lacking tolerance of different fighting styles. Haven, where Blake had become a huntress in the first place, was a very good school, too—as were all the academies, really. But it had been her last-resort option and it had been fairly lax in a lot of ways. Beacon was difficult and prestigious, but she found it to be so rewarding and, more importantly, supportive.

Getting a job here had been more than she could have ever asked for. She could barely believe it when Headmaster Ozpin called her to his office that late-spring day and asked if, when she finished her teaching degree, she wanted to stay at Beacon. Blake knew she was an exemplar of calmness and stoicism, but she figured her expression must have looked somewhat uncharacteristic back then. That she was getting a job offer before her degree was over, that she was getting the opportunity to teach her desired subjects, and that she was getting the chance to teach at _Beacon_ was unreal—and, on top of that, it had shattered whatever despondency she had built up around her undesirability as a Faunus and as a former member of the White Fang. It was a dream come true, really, and now she had a class full of good, bright children and the opportunity to shape their developing minds.

Blake was out of breath by the time she decided to stop. Whatever number of sit-ups she had gotten to didn’t matter; all that mattered was that she felt the burn and knew she’d get those abs she longed for one day.

Silver was still staring at her. It was still awkward. However, being that Blake could not be controlled by any animal, and being that her confidence could not be shaken by any single look, she stared gloatingly back at her pet, swung herself backwards, then forwards, and launched herself into a tight forwards backflip, ending with a flourishing but three-point landing. Nonchalantly, she raised herself up, dusted off the nonexistent dust on her outfit, and teasingly stuck her tongue out at Silver.

Her tongue snapped back into her head at the sound of a doorbell, though. Silver, all too excited by the moment, scurried away from the window and likely towards the front door.

Blake momentarily panicked, her previous confidence gone and feeling once more self-conscious, only this time it was because of the sweat covering her body and the outfit she was wearing. She debated whether or not she should actually answer the door, tempted to pretend she wasn’t home. But Blake knew better, unfortunately. It could be important—she lived on campus, and she doubted anyone would knock at her door for the fun of it.

Unless it was a student. In which case, they _would_ knock for the fun of it. But Blake hadn’t been here long enough for students to want to play that prank on her.

Resigning to the fact that she would show herself—and quickly before it was too late—Blake, still somewhat breathless, hurried back into the house and grabbed the bottle of water on the kitchen counter. She took a swig and then went to the front door, doing her best not to trip over Silver in the process, who insisted on getting in the way several times.

Blake took a calming breath in, trying to gain a semblance of coolness and composure despite her awkwardness, and then gripped the handle before opening the door.

She was met with the sight of a man starting to turn away. When he realized someone was home, he turned back towards Blake in surprise…and then his eyes widened in even greater stun when he actually _saw_ her. “Oh! Um…”

She didn’t miss the way his gaze traveled down her body, and Blake’s hold on her bottle suddenly tightened—much to her horror, because it made water spill onto her chest. Blake cussed under her breath, a blush creeping up her neck out of embarrassment, and although the guy scrambled to tell her it was okay, she hid behind the door a little and told him to wait a moment, which he thankfully agreed to.

Blake went back into her kitchen, set the stupid water bottle back down on the counter, and went to the bathroom to grab a towel and quickly wipe herself off. She then rushed to her bedroom to find the first sweater she could put her hands on, slipped it over her torso, and scowled internally at the uncomfortable heat before making her way back to the front door.

The man was still waiting, and this time he made sure to keep his eyes on her face—although he looked just about as ill at ease as Blake felt. “Hey, sorry about that. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” he said.

Blake narrowed her eyes a little but looked him over as well. He was a bit taller than her, and maybe a few years older, too, with purposely unkept brown hair and warm, chocolate brown eyes. He wasn’t rippling with muscle, but he did have a strong frame. He looked familiar.

“No, um…I was just finishing up, anyway. Are you…Professor Sycamore?”

At this, he smiled genially. “Yes, that’s me! But you can call me Dane. May I call you Blake?”

Still dealing with her embarrassment, Blake didn’t give the question much thought and automatically replied, “Um, yeah, sure, you can call me Blake. Can I help you?”

The little she knew about Dane Sycamore was that he had started working at Beacon Academy the year prior to Blake’s being hired. And that was all. She had sort of seen him around, but they had never spoken until this point, and she had no idea what he could possibly have to say to her.

He continued to smile, though. “I’m glad you’re home. A few other teachers and I are going out for some drinks tonight, since it’s Friday. I thought I’d extend the invitation to you, help you feel welcome to the group!”

Blake’s eyes widened just slightly. She had not been expecting this development. And the thought of socializing with a group of strangers—in a drinking environment, no less—was not her idea of fun or a way she wanted to spend her Friday night. Plus, this situation was awkward enough as it was. So, Blake attempted to refuse politely. “Thank you, but…I had plans for tonight already. Maybe…some other time.”

Dane looked disappointed but for a fleeting second before he smiled again. “Yeah, no problem! How’d your first class go? Pretty nerve-wracking, right?”

Blake had thought she would be able to say goodbye and get back to finishing her workout, but apparently Dane wanted to keep chatting. She made an effort to be pleasant, though. “It was nice, actually. I was nervous at first, but I think the students are going to help me keep it interesting. Thank you for asking.”

He nodded, and just when the silence was verging on very much unwanted, his eyes lit up. “Well, I’ll leave you to your plans! Enjoy your evening.” He made this kind of small salute motion with his index finger and then turned around to start walking away.

“Um, you, too,” Blake replied, uncertain. She didn’t watch him go, instead quickly closing her door, relieved that he had decided not to stay for too long, after all. But she stood there for a moment, hand still on the handle. She had no idea if Dane’s interest was a good or a bad thing. Nevertheless, she shook her head, removed the sweater, and then went to her living room to stretch her muscles for another ten minutes or so before putting an end to her workout for the day.

Blake then showered, spending no more time than was necessary under the water, and once her face was washed, her hair was dry, and she was dressed in her pajamas, she fetched a piece of bread from the fridge and a bowl of ice-cream from the freezer, and went to set her laptop up on the living room’s coffee table.

Indeed, she didn’t really have any plans for the evening, but Blake was much more comfortable with this. She would spend the next few hours watching a show she was following, tucked into a warm blanket on the long side of her sectional with Silver snuggling up to her, and Blake would eventually get drowsy enough to shut everything off, brush her teeth, and then go to bed for the night.

It was relaxing, and Blake liked it that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THEN BLAKE AND SILVER HAD SEX? MAYBE? IDK. NAH. “That’s gross, YWU. Why would you ever suggest that?” you say. WELL, IDK, BECAUSE THIS IS FAN FICTION AND THERE ARE TOO MANY SHIPS AND I DON’T HAVE TIME TO WEED OUT THE BAD ONES. ALSO ROAR I’M AN ALL-POWERFUL AUTHOR.
> 
> Speaking of me givething and takething awayething, you might notice that the central gimmick that probably brought everyone to this story was absent this chapter. If you did notice this, then A+. I’m very proud of you. <3 
> 
> Anyway, hope you liked that chapter. See you lovely birdies in the next one~~~~


	3. Nightmares and Not-Dreams

It was funny how much Yang missed her right arm. But, like, in a way that wasn’t funny at all. Even the most menial tasks were suddenly awkward with her left hand, and just yesterday Yang had face-planted against the floor because she’d wanted to catch herself with her right limb getting out of bed, only to painfully realize—yet again—that it was in a cast, utterly unable to save her from falling. It was terribly inconvenient and annoying. Almost a week had gone by since the near-fatal fight, and Yang was already restless and sick of waiting for her arm to heal. And she was sick of being at home.

As a means of reaching out to the world, Yang sat at her kitchen’s table, slouched over her scroll as she texted her two favorite redheads. Or, at least, the one redhead who only wanted to have red hair and the other redhead who probably didn’t have real red hair, considering it was so _red_. Unfortunately, texting with her left hand was slow and frustrating. There were two positions Yang felt comfortable typing with: the one with the scroll lying flat against the table with her good hand hunting and pecking or with it propped up in her good hand with her thumb slowly finding the right keys. Neither was truly comfortable, though, and she ended up switching between them frequently.

At least she wasn’t in pain all over anymore. That was definitely comfortable. The first two days had been sufficient for Yang’s aura to heal her remaining bruises and strained muscles. Her arm was the only pain remaining. A big, dumb, heavy pain that got in the way of everything. She had run out of meds at the beginning of the week, but it wasn’t too bad in all honesty. Despite her arm occasionally throbbing, this was better than it had been. As much as being high on pain medication had been kind of comical, Yang definitely preferred being her regular, not-constantly horny self. The libido still existed, but it was back to its normal, non-bragging state.

Yang eventually finished her text to Ruby and shot it off, regretting it almost immediately because it was kind of a lie.

_Yea sure, maybe once I’m totally healed. We’ll see how it goes_

Ruby had asked if Yang wanted to go on a mission with her sometime, once the healing was over. Normally, Yang would have loved to. It had been almost a year since she and Ruby had done any hunting together. But…well, Yang hesitated now, and the thought of getting back in the field seemed…daunting. She may accept Ruby’s offer sometime—eventually, after Yang ironed out whatever problems had almost gotten her killed. But for now, a mission was one of the last things on Yang’s mind.

_Medication and aura don’t heal everything, Yang. Stress is the biggest obstacle for injuries like the ones you have now. You should come out with Jaune and I and have bubble tea._

Pyrrha was a doll, but Yang couldn’t be bothered to click on the link she sent that followed her text. It was to some holistic wellness website. But Pyrrha cared, and she was probably right.

 _Blarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh_ , Yang texted back.

_You’re a dinosaur. A big, baby dinosaur._

_Fight me_

_Come have bubble tea, and we’ll see what we can do._

_FIGHT ME_

_It wouldn’t be fair for you lol. But seriously, tell us if you want to come. Jaune and I would love to have you, but we need to know soon so we can get going._

Yang’s scroll buzzed twice.

 _Yay!_ Ruby replied before continuing in a new message. _Also, does Zwei need fud?_

This was getting ridiculous. Yang didn’t have enough hands to juggle two conversations.

She sighed and got up from her chair, going over to check the cabinet where they kept their dog’s bag of food. She lifted it, determining that it was pretty light. The sound, however, must have alerted the good boy in question because ten pounds of excited corgi came galloping from the living room to hop around Yang’s legs, barking.

“No, Zwei. You already have food in your bowl. Stop being so loud.” Yang nevertheless kneeled beside the dog once she put the food away and scratched him behind the ears. Zwei stopped barking, short tail wagging, looking at the brawler with his adorable brown eyes. Yang continued petting him for a moment, taking comfort in the little guy’s presence. At least he didn’t care about Yang’s inability to use her right hand. Or her fear of facing the creatures of Grimm again. He was a dog, and he’d love her no matter what.

The front door opened just then, and Yang got back to her feet as Zwei immediately raced towards the entrance to greet Taiyang, who, after closing the door behind him, started removing his boots. Zwei licked his hands in spite of Taiyang’s attempted resistance.

“Hey, there, honey. How are you feeling?”

Yang returned to the table and dropped back into her chair. “Handicapped,” she mumbled, sullenly beginning to type a slow response to Ruby, telling her that Zwei needed another bag of food.

“All day?” he wondered, walking into the kitchen and stopping to regard Yang with mild pity. Zwei followed him, as if expecting something.

She really didn’t like people looking at her that way. Yang was known for being strong, for looking after those she cared about, for being the life of the party. Pity was unbecoming of her. “Pretty much.” She hit the send button and then looked at her father with an effort to be curious. “How’d your day go?”

This spurred Taiyang into motion again. He started looking in the fridge and in the pantry. “Oh, the usual. The kids are smart and want to learn all kinds of hand-to-hand combat techniques already.” He stood back and caressed the stubbles at his chin for a second. “I’ll say, though, that they’re getting harder to keep under control.” He slowly shook his head. “It all starts at home…”

Yang arched her eyebrows. Taiyang was a gym teacher at Signal for middle school students. He liked his job and had never really complained before—not that Yang had heard, anyway. And even this wasn’t so much a complaint as it was a remark on degrading parenting skills these days.

Ironic, honestly, coming from him. But Yang didn’t want to slap _that_ back into his face. She didn’t really know what to say, though, without making some kind of comment, teasing or not, about the way he had raised her and Ruby.

Taiyang sighed, letting the subject go, and regained some pep. “Wanna help me make sandwiches?”

Yang narrowed her eyes, wondering if he had become blind during his lessons today.

But Taiyang only grinned, trying to be encouraging. “C’mon, lazy! You can make sandwiches with one hand. Or hold stuff for me. You aren’t completely useless.”

“Gee, thanks, dad,” she drawled but rose to her feet again anyway. She found that her gratitude wasn’t totally sarcastic, though. It did help her feel a little less incompetent to actually do something productive, and even if she and her dad sometimes had minor hiccups, Yang liked spending time with her family.

What she didn’t like, though, was being expected to remain a functioning member of society with only one working arm. The _nerve_. With a smirk, Yang moved from the table to the far side of the center island, grabbing the acacia cutting board that still had crumbs on it from the last time they did this and washing it off quickly in the sink. As she did so, and as her dad retrieved all the ingredients he would and wouldn’t need, Yang heard Zwei. His little feet plicked along the wooden floor until they didn’t, and then Yang saw him. He had jumped an inordinate height to get on top of a high bar stool on the other side of the island, leaving only his head to peek over the granite counter with an excited dog-smile.

Yang made a face at him. “What do _you_ want?”

“ _I_ want a turkey, ham, and cheese,” Taiyang said, head in the fridge. “Because it’s been a long day, and I deserve it.”

“And if you didn’t deserve it?” said Yang. She moved over to do the one other thing she could do to help—namely, opening the mayonnaise jar by placing it under her bad arm and twisting the lid with the other—before going over to sit beside Zwei. She scratched his head. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Then I’d still deserve it.” Taiyang turned from the fridge and waggled a package of cold-cut turkey at his daughter. “You should know better than anyone the effort it takes to keep children under control when they don’t want to be controlled.”

Yang checked her scroll and shot off a text to Pyrrha.

 _U go without me this time. We’ll all go when Mr Warden lets me out of prison_ , which was followed by a subsequent, _:(((((((((_

With a self-amused smile, she looked up at her father. “Well, rook, if you find yourself in too much trouble, you can always ask me for pointers.”

“Not much pointing you can do right now.”

“You,” Yang squinted at him, suddenly self-conscious of her sling, “…aren’t wrong.”

Taiyang chuckled, looking down at what he was doing with the ingredients. However, as soon as he did this, Zwei waggled his little butt in anticipation before leaping up onto the island counter. It took him a moment to struggle himself up there, but he did, and as Yang thought about telling him to get down, Taiyang said, “You know that Aster boy? The twelve-year-old who lives down the road?”

“Sorry. I try not to keep track of twelve-year-old boys.”

Zwei had moved between the sink and the cutting board. His tail was wagging. Taiyang did not see him.

“Well, I was teaching Self-Defense, and Benny,” he looked up at Yang, “that’s the kid’s name,” he looked back down at the bag of bread in front of him, “decided he wanted to try sparring.” He placed two slices of whole-wheat bread on the cutting board beside him without looking and threw his arms up in a shrug. “And once _that_ idea got out, everyone wanted to try it.”

While Taiyang focused on opening one of the ham packages, Zwei walked over to the closest slice of bread, leaned down, and ate it. Yang rested her exasperated but near-laughing face in her hand. She did her best to hide her smile behind her fingers.

“Well, because everyone there could put up their auras, I decided we could at least give it a try. What could go wrong, right? I’ve been teaching for twenty-something years, so I had this under control.”

He placed four slices of ham down on the cutting board, two for each sandwich. Unfortunately for him, only the first two made their way on to bread. The second two hit the wood with a light slap, and they were quickly gobbled up by that mini, portable vacuum of a dog.

 “Wrong,” Taiyang said, waving a piece of turkey at Yang. The blonde had thought this was in response to Zwei, but it was actually part of his story. The dude was clueless. “I tried explaining the concept of sparring to the kids: Don’t go one-hundred-percent speed, you get a point if you get a hit, and _only_ do the moves I show them. But they didn’t want to do that. They just wanted to fight.”

He placed the turkey, the cheese slices, and two leaves of lettuce on the would-be-plural sandwiches, which Zwei once again ate. Taiyang did not seem aware of anything but his story, so much so that if Yang pointed Zwei out, she wasn’t sure the words would compute for her dad. Therefore, Yang supposed she could let devious dogs trespass. While her dad was looking at her, she reached out and patted the back of that distracted dog in front of that apparently blind dad.

After Taiyang added a couple tomato slices, and as he was spreading mayonnaise over the half-existent top slices of bread—that is, as he was spreading mayonnaise across Zwei’s outstretched tongue—Taiyang’s tone fell to disappointment. “So, Benny decided he would take on the Watergrave girl. Mostly everyone else was doing slow punches and soft kicks, and it was really fun, honestly, but then Benny decided to slug April, and April decided to kick him back.”

Taiyang closed the first completed sandwich, which Yang made sure to grab immediately, and set his hand down near the dog. “The nurse had to come and put him in a wheelchair. April shattered his aura like it was nothing.” He sighed deeply. “I don’t know Yang. Is it the kid’s fault or the parents’? Is it the cartoons or the expectations?”

Yang took a big bite of her sandwich. Because her mouth was full of food, and because her scroll had just buzzed with Pyrrha’s reply, all Yang did was shrug and check her message. _:DDDDDDD_ , Pyrrha had written. _Text us if you want anything. We’d be happy to bring you some! Love you!_ Yang, deciding she was not opposed to the idea of bubble tea, took Pyrrha up on that offer. She then watched as her dad tried to close his own sandwich, only to find the fuzzy form of fur, happiness, and iron-clad digestion.

“Zwei!” Taiyang shouted, almost whining, immediately disheartened.

Yang took another bite of her sandwich. Her dad set Zwei down on the ground, only to have him bark with glee and run around in circles. “You know,” Yang said, swallowing, “there aren’t only two options, dad. Here’s a pointer: Don’t talk about kids you’re trying to bond with behind their backs. It doesn’t reflect well on you, and they can smell it from a mile away.”

“…But my sandwich.”

“A little bit of self-awareness goes a long way,” Yang stood, taking her sandwich, scroll, and dog with her. Of course, Zwei only came to heel in search of her sandwich, but Yang liked to think he was loyal. “Now, I’m gonna go watch more movies ‘cause that’s all I can do anymore.”

Taiyang was practicing deep-breathing exercises, and Yang was walking away. Justice tasted good.

* * *

Ozpin’s office was more than a little distracting. This was only the third time Blake had been here, and the newness of the clockwork gears, the vista of Vale, and the green tint to everything had not yet worn off. The silver-haired headmaster sat smiling behind his desk, waving Blake over as she entered.

“Professor Belladonna. Welcome. Please, have a seat.”

Had Blake not chosen to wear these specific ankle boots, this meeting would have been a little less awkward, but, as it was, every click of her heels seemed to echo in this wide room. But she kept calm—like always—even if hearing Ozpin call her “professor” threatened her composure. He waited for Blake to cross the room, not breaking his smile in the slightest, even when it took her a moment to get settled in her seat. Blake placed her bag beside the chair, cleared her throat, looked at Ozpin, and crossed her legs—to appear relaxed when she really wasn’t.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Yes, actually. I wanted to know how you’re finding Beacon now that you’re working here.” He leaned back in his chair, taking his coffee with him before sipping at it. “I understand it’s a bit different studying here than working, and I want to make sure your transition is as smooth as possible.”

Blake nodded, giving it some thought. She had been in a single dorm on campus while earning her graduate degrees, and that hadn’t been bad at all—finally having a place to herself with Silver had been a relief. And once she had been hired as a teacher, she had been given a small apartment near the academy. In this regard, nothing had really changed except her surroundings. It was true that teaching was making itself out to be a far different world than studying, but everything had been going smoothly, all things considered.

“Thank you, Headmaster—”

“You can call me Ozpin now, you know,” he interrupted her kindly.

“Ozpin,” Blake tried again, but it was difficult for her to wrap her mind around the change. The familiarity didn’t seem right. “Um, again, thank you, but I’m enjoying my new role and home. I haven’t experienced any issues to speak of.”

He waited a moment, giving Blake time to continue with an arched eyebrow, but when the Faunus did not take his offer, he reached over and pulled a glowing screen out of thin air. “Splendid,” he said, eyes glued on the screen’s contents. “Then we must discuss your classes. Intro to Ethics, World History Since The Great War, and Novels of Vytal. All very lovely classes.” His eyes flicked to Blake, peering over his tiny, brown spectacles. “You aren’t finding teaching such different courses too strenuous, are you?”

His tone felt conversational, but Blake felt like her answer would be fairly determining, if not now then later. “No, sir. I have a firm grasp on everything I’m teaching at the moment. I do not think I am qualified to speak for Philosophy, Literature, or History in broad senses, but I know my specializations, and I am strong in what I understand.”

“I do not doubt it.” He smiled, warmly perhaps. “And I believe that once you work your way through the system and we find the budget for the classes you want, your understanding will only grow. But tell me: You would let Professor Goodwitch and I know if these different classes are stretching you too thin, wouldn’t you? I know we are asking a lot of you with covering these classes, but we are prepared to move you to two—or even one—department to lighten your workload.”

Blake paused again, trying to chew on this question and the inside of her cheek. Before she had been hired, Professor Oobleck had been the only History professor, and Professor Port had taught Philosophy—which, as the students claimed, had not been great. Blake read a lot, had a degree in History, and had dealt with enough morally grey situations in her life to figure some things out, but she could not claim to be a true master of any of those fields. She taught at a combat academy—not a university—and was a capable teacher in her specializations with a strong fighting ability. Could she teach all three? Yes. Could she teach all three _well_?

The silence stretched on for a few more seconds, and Blake finally relented, admitting hesitantly, “I suppose I’m…a bit surprised that I was hired at all. I’m infinitely grateful and appreciative, of course, but you’ve seen my history and background. I’m not exactly the ideal role model—especially not for the courses I’m teaching.”

Ozpin smiled again, a twinkle in his irises that almost looked like pride. “Quite the contrary, Ms. Belladonna. It is _because_ of your history and background that I hired you—that, and you were an excellent student. I think you more than qualify for the role.”

Blake paused, stumped. “I don’t understand,” she stammered.

“You are a very different person than you were back in the White Fang, Blake,” he replied, his tone gentler. “I see in you someone who has learned from her mistakes and who is searching to amend for the past, someone who can help and inspire others in ways not many people could. You are young, and yet you already have so many incredible life experiences to share, and I encourage you to do so, to use your knowledge and acquired wisdom and set a precedent of justice and goodness—not just for the Faunus but for everyone.”

“Oh…” Blake looked down at her lap, heat creeping up her neck. That was undoubtedly the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her. She had no idea how to respond, touched by the magnitude with which Ozpin thought she could impact the future of Remnant’s guardians. She had never really thought it could be that much, never really considered actually sharing her shameful past in detail with her students, but if the very headmaster of Beacon Academy, himself, believed it would truly make a difference…

“Headmas—O-ozpin, are you sure about this? I committed crimes. I’ve done things that should not see the light of day. What if some of my students get the wrong idea?”

Ozpin put his mug of coffee down on the desk. “Ms. Belladonna, confidence is gained with practice and time. But as it is, I trust in your skills as a teacher to transmit your ideas in such a way that your students see and understand your perspective. I do not believe I made a mistake in hiring you so early. Do you?”

Blake did not answer right away. She did mull over everything he had just told her, though, and eventually she found the courage to look him in the eye. Perhaps she would need some time to convince herself that none of this was, in some way, an egregious lack of foresight, but for now, she did feel a little more secure in her too-loud boots. “I may need some time to think about what we’ve discussed, but I don’t think you’ve made a mistake, no.”

Ozpin smiled again, enigmatic and knowing like he usually was, but he seemed satisfied now, too. “I’m glad we agree. I look forward to seeing your progress and hearing your voice at our monthly staff meetings, Professor.”

Understanding that this marked the end of their conversation, Blake grabbed her shoulder bag and rose. Ozpin did, too, and outstretched his hand towards her. She managed to return his smile, albeit a bit tightly, and took his hand to give it a brief shake. “Thank you. Have a nice evening…Ozpin.”

“You as well, Ms. Belladonna. Say hello to Silver for me.”

Blake’s smile became somewhat amused, and she did give Ozpin a bit of a funny look, but they both knew his comment was simply meant to lighten the mood. She said nothing, merely turning and heading out of his office, somehow feeling a little more confident and ready to take on her career.

The rest of the academy was abuzz by this point with the end-of-day cheer and relief that came from classes finally being over. As Blake made her way down into Beacon’s main hall, she found herself nearly trampled by the remaining outbound students and the slowly but unstoppably strolling teachers. Everyone was chatting like it was a Friday, which it wasn’t, and everybody was happy like it was summer, which it was. Blake eased in to the flow of foot traffic and found a little space all for herself as she approached the hall’s exit, leading to the orange glow beyond.

“Professor Belladonna!”

But it seemed the day wasn’t quite over. Blake turned around, finding Team AFTR—with Argent leading the charge and Tope, Faraday, and their fourth teammate, Rock, following after—heading straight towards her. It was kind of intimidating, really. They had a purpose written in their eyes. Well, Argent did.

“Hi…” Blake drawled, not used to…whatever this was.

Argent stopped before Blake with a click of her heels. Her teammates stood behind her, and the traffic diverted around them. Despite this being the end of the day, Argent’s cascading silver hair was just as perfect as the way she had styled it this morning. Blake, meanwhile, felt and probably looked a little frazzled. “Professor Belladonna,” Argent said, “we didn’t get the chance to tell you because we were in a bit of a hurry, but we wanted to tell you that your History class today was really great.”

That was surprisingly sweet. “Oh, well, thank—”

“And we wanted to know how your weekend was.”

“—you.” Blake stared at the group. “Is there some sort of catch here? Because if you’re looking to get boosted grades—”

Faraday and Argent’s eyes grew wide, the latter with offense. The laid-back Tope and the stoic Rock, however, did not budge. “Heavens, no!” Argent said.

“No, we promise, Miss Belladonna!” said Faraday, her posture shrinking. “We just wanted to know how your weekend was because…”

“Because we think you’re a nice, relatable teacher, and we want to be friends with you.”

How in the _world_ did they get nice or relatable out of Blake’s demeanor? Whatever the answer was, it needed to be rooted out by the next semester because Blake would not be having that. As it was, she looked to Team AFTR, and specifically the girls before her, with more than a bit of confusion. “Argent, Faraday, you know teachers can’t be friends with students. That’s—”

“Unethical?” Tope asked, his smile either goofy or proud.

“Uh, sure, but I was trying to say that it also goes against my contract.” Argent and Faraday seemed disappointed by this, especially Argent. “I’m sorry. You seem like a nice group, and I don’t mind you asking me questions like that, but I could lose my job if we become friends.”

Argent took a moment and nodded while Faraday shuffled back to join Tope and Rock. But after the moment was over, Argent puffed out her chest in determination and said, “Well, we’ll be friends after we graduate. Then you won’t have to lose your job.”

Blake blinked. “Y-yeah, I… I hope so, too?” She didn’t.

A wave of satisfaction seemed to wash over Team AFTR—so much so that all the determination and consternation in Argent’s features were replaced with a beam. “I’ll hold you to that, Ms. Belladonna! We’re gonna make you proud and be the best students we can.”

However, as Argent regained her confidence, Faraday stepped back up and tugged on her arm. “Come on, Ari… I don’t think that means she wants to be friends.”

She had said this quietly, perhaps in an attempt to be subtle and save Argent’s reputation, but Blake’s cat ears flickered towards the noise, picking up every word and making her want to refute Faraday’s claim despite it being completely true. Faraday got her way, though, and began moving Argent back. The blue-eyed girl, however, looked over her shoulder at Blake as she was being pulled away further into the main hall—for some sort of team meeting, Blake supposed. “Have a good night, Professor Belladonna! See you tomorrow!”

All Blake could do was sheepishly wave back.

By now, most of the other students had made their way back to the dorms, and whatever teachers were left stood by the double doors leading to the main hall’s rightmost exit, exchanging plans and pleasantries. Once Blake was able to catch her breath and put that near-crisis behind her, she moved towards and past those other teachers and out into the humid summer evening, away from all her new-job drama.

Blake had liked Vale summers since she came here as a teenager, and when she returned later as an adult, they were one of the most important factors in her ability to relax. The way the heat licked along her collar and up to her jaw, while a relatively cool breeze soothed her nerves and made her white blouse flutter, reminded her of Menagerie. Her exit did not lead her out to the main entrance, with its fountain and ponds and eager children, but instead the shortest route home. It was a path that faced the trees, a path bordered on its outer edge by colonnades not dissimilar to those out in front, and a path that put shade between the Faunus and the sunset. It left Blake alone with her thoughts and the heat.

Ozpin said her insight was welcome, that her weaknesses were actually her strengths. For the life of her, Blake could not entirely believe either. Perhaps he would be right and the students would reap the benefits of her perspective, but Blake struggled with both. She knew where the White Fang had gone wrong, and she thought she knew what was right for herself, but to teach these things to students almost seemed wrong. It was not her job to drive imperatives on her students or enforce her will. She was not meant to lead them to her conclusions; instead, it was _their_ conclusions she sought, and she knew the only way to get the students to a point where conclusions could be made was to arm them with the tools to find answers, not with the answers, themselves. But she could not figure out how to do that, even if Team AFTR was already in love with her teaching method, apparently.

Blake’s thoughts distracted her for most of the distance she needed to walk. Eventually, a smaller cobblestone trail branched off from the larger, school-encircling path, and Blake took it, adjusting the way her bag’s strap fell over her shoulder as she headed under the colonnade and into a short wooded allée.

On the other side was the teacher’s village. There were a little over thirty houses in total, each given their own front and back yards and a decent square-footage for the teachers to call home. Blake’s house had the unfortunate problem of being one of the last ones built. While this meant it was newer and better equipped than some of the earlier houses, it meant she had a further walk to make everyday, being that the village had been designed with only five houses in mind before being expanded further and further into the woods for the now thirty-something buildings that housed only twenty-four teachers. Fortunately, Beacon had recently built a nice, quiet shortcut from the main trail to the street with the newer houses. This was the way Blake went.

The trail continued to have trees on both sides, blocking the view to the first row of houses to offer privacy. The orange rays of the setting sun still filtered through the leaves and branches, and Blake thought this was always the nicest part of the walk. She could hear the birds chirping and a squirrel chattering further off, too, and if she tried hard enough, she could just make out the sound of one of the water streams trickling down into the ocean at the bottom of the cliffs, not too far from the village’s location.

There was another sound, though, one that did not belong. Jogging footsteps, coming closer. Blake turned in time to see Professor Sycamore—Dane—approaching. He grinned at her as he neared, and Blake could only recall their previous awkward interaction and wonder why he felt comfortable approaching her again. Nevertheless, she slowed, allowing him to catch up, but did not stop walking.

“Hey, Blake!” he greeted, matching her pace once he was beside her. “Mind if I walk with you? I live nearby, since I’m pretty new, too.”

Blake had kind of meant to enjoy the weather on her own, but she supposed she could at least try being friendly. “Sure, you can walk with me.” She really didn’t know what to talk about, though, and his presence pressured her to find something to say. Although not her smartest decision, she opted to open her mouth and see what came out—but they ended up speaking at the same time.

“So, how did your—”

“So, um…”

Dane chuckled a little while Blake quietly died in mortification. “You go first, sorry.” He motioned towards her.

“No, it’s okay. I actually didn’t have that much to talk about.” In fact, she wished she could pull out Gambol Shroud and shoot herself. That seemed more pleasant than drowning in embarrassment.

“Oh, that’s cool. I was just gonna ask how your day went.” He sounded like he was still smiling, trying to be friendly, not at all getting caught on her social ineptitude.

Blake didn’t understand why people were so intent on asking her how her day and weekend went, though. It was too… _nice_. She didn’t trust it. Also, she was terrible at small-talk. Humiliatingly so. “It was good. I, um… What do you do when students want to be your friends?”

Indeed, Blake went straight for the personal questions instead—because _that_ was so much more comfortable. _What am I doing?_

Dane seemed momentarily surprised, but he took the question in stride and answered, “Well, I treat some of them like friends, kind of, in school. But I don’t see them outside of school, if that’s what you’re asking.” He looked at her from the corner of his eyes. “Some students giving you trouble already?”

Blake didn’t answer right away. The more they spoke, the more she found that she did not care to divulge any part of her life to him. There was nothing wrong with him, of course—quite the contrary, he seemed quite all right, but Blake just…couldn’t. She was reticent. “Not really. I was just wondering. I’m sorry, that was a bit out of the blue.”

“Hey, don’t fret it. So, I heard you studied here at Beacon. Have you always been in Vale?”

The back of Blake’s neck felt like it was burning. They were out in the open now, heading up the road her home was located on. It would take them another three minutes or so to reach it. She didn’t know how to tell him she wasn’t interested, that some of her past experiences made her wary, that his mere insistence on talking to her caused her to feel a little trapped. Was her body-language not closed enough? Or was he just incredibly oblivious? …Or did he not care? “No. Have you?”

“Good question! I traveled a lot, that’s for sure. I’ve been in Atlas, in Mistral, and I even visited Vacuo for a while. I wanted to see what Menagerie was like, too, but I wasn’t allowed.”

Blake’s cat ears were beginning to lean backwards. He sounded genuine, but why would he ever want to visit an island populated by a people that would distrust him entirely? There was also a tiny voice at the back of her mind wondering why he thought it was okay to mention Menagerie as if it was a special thing to her, a Faunus. It was, coincidentally, but she had never told him this and she felt like he was pushing a boundary he did not have permission to. Still, for all it was worth, Blake tried to silence that little voice, tried to push past her unease. She was supposed to be over that part of her life, supposed to be stronger now. “Why Menagerie?”

Dane shrugged. “I like traveling and seeing places.” He paused, as if giving his reply some thought. But then his eyes widened and he waved his hands at her. “Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean anything by that, promise.”

Blake knew he was telling the truth. But she didn’t answer, didn’t know what to say, unsure how to turn the conversation around. Instead, she turned onto the walkway to her home’s entrance, and Dane followed her, probably trying to clear the air. Unfortunately, he only raised alarm bells in Blake’s mind.

“Blake, wait. I mean it—I’m sorry.” He gently touched her arm, as if trying to make her stop.

And Blake did stop. She faced him, eyes narrowed. “Please don’t touch me.”

Dane took a step back, eyes wide. He nodded.

“I accept your apology. It’s fine.” Blake attempted to relax her stance, but she could feel the tension in her nape and shoulder blades. She didn’t like this. Yet she could see that Dane was truly not trying to harm her, and she did not feel it was fair to treat him too harshly just because of her own inability to set boundaries before they were crossed. This was only her fault. “Thank you for walking with me. I hope you enjoy your evening.”

“Yeah.” Dane nodded again, putting one of his hands in his pocket. “Thank you as well. And for what it’s worth, I’m still sorry. I hope you have a nice evening, too. See you.”

“…See you,” Blake murmured, and he turned, continuing on his way up the road. She didn’t watch him go, going to her front door to swipe her scroll in front of the digital locking mechanism, and then went inside, closing the door behind her.

She leaned against the door, shutting her eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath in. She slowly exhaled. Of course there were certain things that brought to mind bad memories. But Blake had left the White Fang some eight years ago. She had freed herself from that, had freed herself from Adam, the man who had mentored and watched over her and treated her like his pet. She should know better than to let prejudices or irrational fears control her behavior. It wasn’t okay.

Blake heard quiet, padded paws trot over to her, and something soft brushed against her calves. She opened her eyes and looked down, finding Silver staring back up at her with large aquamarine irises. The cat put her paws on Blake’s thighs, letting out a concerned meow.

“I’m all right,” Blake murmured, rubbing Silver’s head and ears gently. “Thanks for asking.”

Silver only pressed into the caresses, remaining silent. Blake rolled her eyes.

Their night together was the same as it ever had been: relaxing, solitary, and filled with shows and a gourmet vanilla bean ice cream. Silver enjoyed every moment and lick of it. But as Blake hugged her purring cat closer, and as her eyes glazed over while looking at her laptop’s holoscreen, she found her mind wandering. It was cumulative, this inevitable spiral—nothing specific had caused it. Today was just off, and with the stresses of school starting, everyone asking her the same few questions, and that recent dream—plus her conversation with Ozpin about the White Fang and Dane’s untoward attention—Blake was not in a good place.

As she drifted off in her bed later that night, her mood did not recover. Allusions became memories, and every moment of discomfort manifested into something thoroughly stressful.

She could still hear his voice as if it were yesterday. Years later, his ghost still haunted her.

“Blake, sit with me,” Adam said as she entered his tent. “I wanted to talk to you.”

The tent was larger than most in the encampment and it was set in the middle. The inside was dark, lit only by a couple dim lanterns on the far table, and, despite its size, this place felt cramped. No matter how many people surrounded them outside, Blake knew she was very much alone with her mentor, this man she had once called her dearest friend.

“I’d rather stand,” she replied, keeping a carefully composed expression.

He nodded, slowly, as if acknowledging, but he moved towards her, and the closer he got, the more tension Blake felt in her spine and neck. Adam didn’t stop in front of her, though. He merely brushed past her shoulder, and Blake was acutely aware of him behind her somewhere. She heard the sound of two empty glasses clinking after he seemed to rummage for something in one of the bags left in the corner of the tent. She didn’t budge, but her heartbeat was accelerating. It was hard to tell what he wanted, what his temper might make him do if she pushed him too far.

“I don’t know what’s happened between us, Blake,” she heard him say, as if he were sad about it. He stepped into her field of vision again, and he stopped this time, but the Grimm mask hiding his upper face made it impossible to tell where his gaze lingered. Blake shifted uncomfortably. There were two wine glasses in one of his hands, glimmering in the light of the lanterns, and a blood-red bottle in the other. “I’ve done so much for you. I just want things to be right.”

A sharp sting of guilt coursed through Blake, just like every time he reminded her of this. It was true—he _had_ done so much for her. He had been there when Blake had no one else, had taught her how to fend for herself and face the atrocities of the world. He had made sure she always had shelter to return to, food to eat, clothes to wear. She shouldn’t have been treating him with any kind of coldness.

“I want things to be right, too,” she found herself agreeing, but she wasn’t sure she meant it in the same way he did. Not anymore. But she couldn’t let him know that, couldn’t tell him they no longer were on the same page. She feared what he would do if he found out, and she was ashamed of straying so far from what he wanted.

Adam paused, towering above her without saying a word, and then he finally said quietly, “I know you do.”

Blake swallowed with difficulty. There was always a tiny voice at the back of her mind that whispered he already knew she wanted to leave, that at any moment he would confront her about it and punish her for her ungratefulness. It was unsettling to look at him and have no idea what was going through mind, and even if she did her utmost to put forward a composed demeanor, she still felt exposed under that soulless Grimm regard and those empty, black holes where eyes should be. She did not respond.

Adam moved away, though, and set the cups on the low table in the middle of the tent. He motioned for Blake to come closer, and she obeyed reluctantly. He said nothing for a while, taking his time pouring wine into each glass cup, and with each hollow _glup_ _glup glup_ , Blake grew more and more anxious. She didn’t know what to say, or if there was anything he expected her to admit, and the pressure made her wish she could curl into a ball and fade from existence.

One at a time, Adam’s gloved fingers curled around one of the cups just as it was halfway filled, and then he offered it to Blake. “At least have a drink with me, my love.”

She didn’t want to. She hated drinking, and he knew this. Alcohol affected her too easily. “Adam, please—”

“Take it, Blake,” he interrupted her, biting.

Her cat ears lowered flat against her head, but she didn’t have the courage to stand her ground. She took the glass from Adam, and those dark pits kept boring into her, his lips beginning to twist into a slight snarl, and Blake brought the cup to her lips and took a sip, enough for Adam to be satisfied with her. The wine was coarse and bitter, and Blake could barely stomach it, but she forced it down nevertheless.

Adam’s worsening grimace relaxed into a somewhat gentle, small smile, and he took his own cup to have a drink as well. “That’s it, Blake. Not so hard, was that? I’m proud of you.” He paused again, as if thinking, making the wine swirl in his glass. He then stepped towards her yet again, and the scratched leather of his gloved hand touched her cheek as he cupped her face softly. “Don’t be scared. You know I love you too much to truly hurt you.”

Blake could hardly keep herself from trembling at the contact. She wanted to believe he wouldn’t cause her any pain, that he did love her, that what was inescapable would be fulfilling and wonderful, but she didn’t recognize this man anymore. She still clung to who he used to be, to the memories of his care and tenderness, and a tiny part of her longed for him in this manner, but she couldn’t. This would tear her apart. She was already ripping at the seams.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, and his fingers were caressing the side of her face now. Blake’s heart was pounding in her chest, any attempt at speech catching in her throat. His graze wandered, fingertips trailing down her jaw, tracing the side of her lips and throat and collarbone. Now it was her breathing that became difficult to keep calm, and when Adam’s touch started following the rise of her chest, Blake couldn’t stand it anymore and tried to take a step back, to get away from him.

But Adam clamped down on her arm, firm and unyielding, forbidding Blake from going anywhere. “Don’t,” he growled.

Her eyes widened in alarm, and Blake faltered, nearly dropping her cup. He was so close to her, his painful grip like a vice. She didn’t know if the alcohol was already beginning to affect her, but she felt her hold on her control slipping, the sides of her vision darkening.

“You sadden me so much, Blake,” he told her, quiet but angry. His hand released her, but he only moved in closer, his lips grazing the top of her head with a kiss before touching one of her cat ears. “Why don’t you love me?”

“I do love you,” she quickly protested, shaking, panicking. She couldn’t find the strength to escape him, and her heart was beginning to throb in her head, making it nearly impossible to concentrate.

Adam kissed her temple, his hand coming to rest on her waist. “I could take you whenever I wanted, _darling_ ,” he whispered. “Right now, if I were so inclined. I’d make sure you’d enjoy it, too.” He kissed her cheek, his lips moist. Blake was lightheaded, her body going numb. Did he somehow poison her drink? “You’re mine to please, to do as I please. But I won’t—not tonight. I’ll wait for you to come to me, Blake. You’ll see that I only want what’s best for you.”

He had never kissed Blake on her lips, but Blake could swear she could taste the alcohol on his breath as her mind hurdled through oblivion. The foggy evening and the kerosene lamps became stillness and midnight darkness. The cold of autumn became the irritating stuffiness of summer. And Blake was no longer a teenager. She was awake, staring up at a dark ceiling she could not see the color of—far away from Adam.

* * *

Yang awoke with a start, sitting up and breathing heavily. Her entire body was pulsing, heartbeat forceful and panicked. She looked around, searching for some semblance of normalcy, but found that this was not her room—even worse, she remembered the mirrored closet and the Haven Academy pennant on the wall and knew this was someone else’s room. The same someone else as the girl from her out-of-body experience. Except it was night now instead of day, and Yang had never had a repeat dream, and her life was no longer in danger, and everything still felt so _real_.

A sound in the bed made her attention jump to whatever had caused it, finding a form wriggling beneath the covers that were not her own. Although Yang was beginning to realize that this dream may not have been just a dream—considering the undeniable realness of the freaked-out heartbeat, the soft and cool bedsheets, and the overbearing tank top that stuck to not-her skin—but whatever that was supposed to mean, it would take Yang time to figure out. In the meantime, she would lift the edge of the covers, lean down to check, and find an angry, hissing cat pouncing towards her.

Yang jumped out of the bed, dodging the furious beast as best she could. She had expected her arm to sting, and she was prepared to deal with the pain, but, thankfully, reality hit her just then as her butt hit the hardwood. She looked at her—or not her—arm and realized that the Petra Gigas fight had never happened to this girl’s body, and so her arm was healed. Or healthy. Whichever.

The cat, that stupid cat from before, with its grey fur and shining eyes, stood on the edge of the bed, almost majestically with the moon at its back and with its lowered, predatory stance but frightening, too, with its raised hair and tail. Yang did not bother thinking if the cat _could_ kill her. All she knew was that it apparently wanted to.

“Hey! Hey! Hey!” Yang said, scooting as far away from the cat as she could. “Chill!”

 The cat hopped down from the bed, graceful but threatening. Yang could hear its talons clicking along the floor as it began inching forward.

“Listen. Hey! Listen to me. We can make a deal.” Yang kept scooting away until her back hit and rattled the mirrored door behind her. She had nowhere to run. “Do you like tuna? I can get you tuna. I know a guy who sells _really_ good tuna, and I can get it for you on the cheap.”

The cat did not pause because of Yang’s offer, ignoring it at first and taking another five steps forward, but it did pause nevertheless and began sniffing the air. Slowly, the hair on its back lowered, and so too did its tail, and eventually the cat padded over to Yang and sat down next to her. It meowed questioningly.

Yang took a moment to calm herself, just staring at the little beast as it did nothing. Whatever was going on, Yang’s body—or not Yang’s body—was doing it’s darnedest to freak her out. But nothing was actually wrong, which made Yang deeply suspicious—of everything. Everything felt real—the fear, the sensations, the cat’s presence, and even the clarity and general continuity of everything—and everything made sense. This didn’t feel like a dream at all, either. If Yang never had recurring dreams, didn’t feel like she was dreaming or like this was another near-death experience, if everything felt real and continuous, and, if her last experience here was any indication, there is no conscious means of escape from this reality, then… Uh-oh.

This wasn’t a dream. This was…real life. Like, really real life.

Oh boy. That meant… _Oh boy_. So, if this was real life, Yang reasoned, then all this stuff around her—the cat, the pennant, the house, and the boobs—were real life, too. This being real life also meant that this body—this body that was clearly not Yang’s—was also real life. With a deep, dreadful sigh, Yang came to two shocking conclusions:

  1. She should never touch this girl’s boobs again. Ever.
  2. She was literally possessing some real-life girl’s body right now.



Whatever this was, be it magic or aliens or divine intervention, Yang realized that the cause didn’t matter. What mattered was that this was happening. This possession was real, it was present, and there wasn’t anything Yang could do until… Well, her last visit had shown that she would eventually return home, but when or how were questions she didn’t have answers to and, for the sake of her already shaky wellbeing, questions she didn’t _want_ answers to. Yang figured that if she was going to be here, she was going to be here. She took a deep breath in, let a deep breath out, and while the horror still remained in the itsy-bitsiest corner of her mind, it had largely vanished.

Yang and this girl’s body would make it out okay. She would make sure of that.

All things considered, though, this wasn’t _too_ bad for an unexpected, potentially demonic possession. It was _completely_ weird and impossible, but it wasn’t, like, _awful_. At the very least, Yang was not being attacked, not in any danger, and she had a working right arm. The downsides were the racing heart and body covered in sweat paired with what little sensibilities she had—there was no dealing with the sweat in any reasonable way because Yang didn’t want to intrude on the other girl’s life _that_ much. She had decided to not touch the boobs, after all, and taking a shower here would probably be a lot worse than just touching. Plus, it turned out she could see in the dark—yay!—and smell pretty much everything—including the sweat, which wasn’t all that bad, actually—and those were things she had to live with for now. Not awful at all.

The cat meowed again.

Coming down from the realization that her reality was freaking bonkers and relieved that she wasn’t about to be mauled, Yang said, “No, sorry, kitty cat. I don’t know where your mom is. But as soon as I stop possessing her body and being a total creep, she’ll be here to take care of you.”

The cat then stood, Yang being ready to read its enigmatic but profound body language, and walked out of the room.

“Right. Of course. Cat.” 

Now that Yang was alone and starved for the furry attention that would distract her from this possession, she tried to make the best of her situation. She slouched and released all the defenses she had built up, pressing against the closet and looking out at where the cat had left, through the opening in the room. Everything was a milky sort of grey color. Occasionally, she could see other colors, but everything was clearest with that greyness. It was really cool. After a little bit, her heart rate began to slow, and she happily started drumming on the very real floor.

Yang took a moment to close her eyes and think of home, trying a little weakly to get herself back into her body, but, like last time, any effort she put forth failed. Yang figured she was stuck here for the time being. That wasn’t a bad thing, necessarily, but she _really_ didn’t want to intrude in this person’s life anymore. The owner, she suspected, was suppressed way down in some part of the brain, just waiting for Yang to leave. To the owner, this whole thing must have seemed cruel, and Yang sympathized with her completely. But, at the same time, this was not Yang’s fault, and there was nothing she could do to help it.

Therefore, Yang decided she needed a towel and a drink and stood up.

“Cat!” she called out, leaving the room and deciding to test her night vision in the dark house she vaguely remembered. The living room was empty. She sing-songed, “Oh, kitty!”

This girl’s voice was not made for singing. Or for emotion, really. There was something automatic in this body’s composition that made sure any high, piping “Eee!” made at a hissing cat became a low, dignified “Ahh!” It was like the body was saving face—kind of remarkable, really, but Yang still wanted to sing-song to that cat yet couldn’t because the body she possessed made the noise sound so _dull_. So monotone.

Nevertheless, said cat came trotting up to where Yang stood. “Mrow.”

“Good. I’m glad you’re here. So, uh, another deal for you.” The cat sat down, awaiting Yang’s offer graciously. Yang was impressed. “I don’t wanna be here. Your mom probably doesn’t want me here, either. But for whatever reason, I can’t go home, so I’m stuck with you until someone sends me back. In the meantime, we’re gonna keep things chill. No fights, no biting, and no sprinting around the house like I know you cats like to do.” The cat’s regard flattened, almost offended. “You aren’t leaving my sight. But I’m also not leaving yours. We gotta be on our best behavior until your mom arises from whatever demonic slumber she has been subjected to, and we gotta hold each other accountable. Does that seem reasonable?”

Yang was talking to the cat too much. She was in this body she didn’t know and this place she wasn’t familiar with, and the adventurous side of her wanted to break away and see more—experience more—of this life she had no claim to. Maybe she could find something here that could help her…do something. Maybe go home, maybe figure out what was going on. _Something_. But as the cat meowed again, Yang realized why she had been talking to it. Maybe it didn’t completely understand her, but it was good to have company, and said company helped take the edge off this entirely weird situation. Maybe it was a coping mechanism. Or maybe Yang was actually crazy. Either way, this cat was all right, even if it had wanted to eat her.

She reached down and tried to pet it. The cat walked away again.

“You’re supposed to stay in my sight!” Yang clenched her fists and started marching after the cat. It is to say that she only started marching after the cat and not “marched after the cat” because, after a point, she did not continue. The cat had walked past the demon-slumber-girl’s bathroom, in front of which Yang had the idea of getting a towel. The two then left each other’s sight, their bond broken immediately.

Yang turned the light on, finding that the greyness of her vision clarified to show crisp, clear colors. Unfortunately, the bathroom was only a plain, white-and-taupe deal. Even though it felt lived-in despite its cleanness and assorted toiletries, it still had that hotel bathroom vibe that made Yang feel uneasy. It was just…where someone else _lived_. It did, however, have a walk-in, glass-door shower that definitely made this house seem fancier. And it kind of interested Yang. Whoever lived here had a pleasant taste.  

Beside the door was a rolling rack of towels, and Yang decided these would be better suited to her situation and less invasive than a full shower. She picked up one of the smaller-but-longer hand towels instead before leaving. She shut the light off, her vision returning to grey, and figured she could stick with this super-awesome night vision stuff for the time being.

Beginning to wipe herself, Yang wandered across the hall into what turned out to be the living room. Like last time, it was full of boring books and no holoscreen. The sectional around the coffee table looked comfortable, though, and it was the only thing keeping Yang from second-guessing the possessed girl’s taste. Across the room, on the far left wall, was a window with blackout curtains almost completely hiding a sliver of pale blue moonlight.

Yang pulled the curtains aside, curious. The night was dry and bright, a full moon shining from behind wispy, smoky clouds that only skirted past the light. It bathed all the trees in blue as they shivered, shaking from the wind and collectively building a crashing hiss of branches and leaves. Yang was surprised to have heard the sound, insulated as she was within the house. Her Faunus ears wiggled towards the wide window before her, embracing the noises of the earth and searching for sounds from the pale gravel road or the modest rows of darkened homes before her. She felt cold looking out at this sight, uncharacteristically so, and as she wiped away whatever sweat remained on her collarbone and clung to the heating aura that had thankfully followed her here, she felt lonely. She did not know why, but a pang of isolation rang through her like a deafening bell, and she frowned.

She did not recognize the neighborhood. Yang did not belong here. That was abundantly clear. This girl lived by herself with a jerk of a cat, and she seemed to lead a quiet life, devoid of entertainment worth mentioning. Her body even felt tense, as if there were a constant pressure in her shoulder blades and neck. And for all intents and purposes, Yang felt like she had just woken from a nightmare, one she had no recollection of. It must have been pretty bad, though, for her to have sweated so much and taken so long to calm her breathing and heart rate.

Yang frowned a little and then turned away from the window, immediately catching reflective round eyes staring back at her from the coffee table. She nearly jumped out of this foreign skin—kind of wished she had, actually, and gone back to her own—and narrowed her eyes at the cat. “You’re evil.” This prompted Yang to believe the cat was causing all of this.

But the cat remained silent, idly swishing its tail, and Yang decided to ignore it, walking by while uncomfortably drying off this chest that did not belong to her. She didn’t linger too long on it, just wiping it enough so it wouldn’t be so icky—making a very ginger point of _not_ touching the boobs—and headed for the kitchen. This time, she heard the padded paws following behind her.

Yang reached around herself to dry her back, and then she draped the towel around her neck. Her eyes quickly darted around the kitchen, and then Yang found what she was looking for in the corner: the fridge. She made her way over, grabbed the handle, and then carefully opened it to peek inside. Light flooded into the kitchen, colors returning to her vision once more, and Yang was glad to find a bottle of water on the top shelf. There was also an unreasonable number of tuna cans—and the blonde kind of hoped it was solely for the cat, but Yang strangely found herself craving some and was forced to understand that, no, they weren’t just for the cat. Yang didn’t like tuna. But this feline Faunus girl did.

Said cat came into her sight again, at the bottom of her feet, and looked up at her with aquamarine eyes. “Mreow?” it wondered.

“Yeah, I know. We made a deal.” Yang grabbed the bottle of water and one of the cans of tuna and was about to close the fridge, but then she thought better of it and grabbed another can. This was ridiculous. She shut the fridge, plunging the kitchen in darkness once more, but her vision immediately adapted. Yang found herself staring at the fridge’s door, and she paused.

There was a note. With a scroll code on it. And she could read it. It said, ‘VIB096834363.’ That was a Vale service carrier. She had heard somewhere that being able to read things in dreams was impossible. This was yet another thing that confirmed she was not dreaming, although she was already confident in that fact; but still, it was nice to be reassured. Or not. Further, this meant she was still in Vale, which was also reassuring because it meant she wasn’t all that far from home. Below the number, in a precise but hurried cursive, were the words ‘New code. Remember it!’

Yang absolutely would commit that code to her memory. And the first thing she would do when she got back to her body would be to message this girl and probably apologize profusely for possessing her.

It was going to be a tough code to remember, though. _VIB096834363_. _VIB096834363_. _VIB096834363_. She would burn it into her memory if she had to. She would remember it so hard that even the girl she was possessing would remember it. If anything, at least it would be convenient for both of them…

After taking a long drink from the water bottle, Yang began searching the drawers for a can opener. She found the utensils easily and grabbed a fork and continued her rummaging, eventually finding the can opener in a secondary drawer not too long after. Meanwhile, she repeated the scroll code in her head and sometimes under her breath, too. It was weird—she felt like she could focus much easier with this brain.

The cat was brushing itself against Yang’s calves again and again, circling around them, tail snaking amorously around her knees, excited at the sound of the cans opening. Yang slowly shook her head, expecting to gag when the smell of fish reached her nose, but instead her mouth watered and she found herself looking forward to the treat. This was _so_ bizarre. Nevertheless, amused at the cat’s impatience, Yang placed one of the cans down on the floor and watched for a moment as the grey feline settled into a loaf of fur to eat.

Satisfied with this sight, Yang took her own can of tuna with her fork and water bottle, and headed back into the living room. She sat down on the sectional, finding that it was just as comfortable as it looked, and pulled her feet up on it with herself, leaning into one of the cushions beside her as she began eating this stuff she shouldn’t like. It was surprisingly relaxing to sit in the moonlight, and although the tension didn’t leave her shoulders, she did start finding some peace of mind. Her clothes were still a bit damp, but her skin had mostly dried off and she felt calmer. The wind outside was a strange lullaby to these sensitive cat ears, and when Yang was done eating her tuna, she put the can and her fork down on the coffee table and finished her bottle of water, too.

 _VIB096834363_. _VIB096834363_. _VIB096834363_.

She felt quite a bit better now, actually. That tuna had really hit the spot. Again, what even? But if it had helped, then Yang supposed that was all that mattered.

That grey cat trotted into the living room soon after. The brawler watched as it first jumped on the coffee table, going over to investigate the finished can of tuna, and then it hopped onto the couch and got directly up in Yang’s face, on her lap.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, challenging the cat with a narrowed stare. It seemed to know things. Evil things. Necronomicon things.

All the cat did in response was bump its head against Yang’s chin, small paws on her upper chest. She sighed in disbelief and gave in, passing her fingers through the soft fur until the cat began turning in circles, kneading her thighs here and there and finally curling into a decidedly not-evil ball. It started purring, a loud rumble that reminded Yang of marbles on a wood flooring. This, too, was interestingly relaxing, and she didn’t stop her idle caresses.

 _VIB096834363_. _VIB096834363_. _VIB096834363_.

And then she stopped her idle caresses.

* * *

At last, Blake sighed. It had been a dream. A bad one, but she was all right.

She reached back with her left hand and pulled a pillow out from behind her, dropping it tiredly on top of her face. The gentle smoosh always seemed to help her relax. She then pulled the blankets off a little, too, in order to cool herself down.

Whatever had happened today—or yesterday, as it were—had hit a little too close to home. That dream was one of her reoccurring nightmares starring Adam Taurus, the man who groomed her, corrupted her, and destroyed her ability to trust. Blake thought she had gotten better about avoiding them. She found herself resenting Dane for his persistence earlier, even though, at the same time, she felt the need to apologize to him again. He was a sweet guy who only wanted to be kind to her, and comparing him to Adam was completely out of line. She would take some time tomorrow and meditate on why she had conflated the two, but, for now, Blake needed to calm herself.

Beginning with a few deep breaths through the cotton pillowcase, Blake told herself she was home. She was older, wiser, and safer than she ever had been. Adam was dead, and she had seen to that, herself. In through the nose, hold, and out through the mouth.

Blake felt that she had relaxed, finally, and surprisingly quickly, too. As she reached up to check her pulse on her neck, she found her skin was soft and warm. Her heartbeat was strong and confident. As good as all of this was, calming down had never been this easy for Blake. And she had never thought her skin was particularly noteworthy.

She removed the pillow from her face and re-realized that the ceiling was dark, along with the rest of the room. Blake blinked and still found darkness. There was some amount of moonlight that kept things from being pitch black, and there were infrequent red or green lights on the walls and ceilings, blinking intermittently, but what startled Blake was that she could not see everything—there were shadows instead of foggy greyness. She blinked again, and her vision did not recover.

“Silver?” she asked, finding her voice an embarrassingly nervous high pitch.

No meow came.

Something was wrong, worse than a nightmare. As Blake tried to roll out of her bed, she felt a shock of pain jolt up her right arm and through the rest of her body, causing her to fall. She hit the arm again, landing on top of it and crushing it into her chest. “Arh!” she choked out, breath leaving her. She felt fire coursing through her veins, and something about that fall made her grit her teeth and want to bounce right back up. But she did not. Instead, whatever adrenaline coursed through her was ignored because there was carpet on the floor. This was not home.

Blake had to kick her sluggish mind into overdrive. If she wasn’t home, where was she? How had she gotten here? And why was her arm in so much pain?

After that nightmare, Blake couldn’t quite shake the uneasiness that settled into her, and fearing the worst, she forced herself to her feet with the help of her good arm. She still had difficulty seeing in this darkness, but she could at least guess that this seemed like a regular bedroom. Wincing, she made her way to the closed door and paused for a moment, leaning against it and straining to hear any abnormal sounds.

But she heard nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not the wind outside or the quiet trickle of water running through her house. Everything was quiet. This did not make Blake feel any more secure.

Nevertheless, she needed to see her surroundings and assess her situation. So, holding her breath, Blake reached over to the wall and turned the light on.

She immediately spun around, blinded, half expecting she would have to defend herself against someone, but it seemed she was alone in here. Everything was just bright. Heart pounding, Blake remained where she was against the door, allowing her eyes to adjust. She blinked several times, distressed at the loss of her normal vision. Was she drugged? Was that why she couldn’t see properly? She had never experienced such fogginess before.

But as her eyes adjusted, Blake found that the difference wasn’t _awful_ , per se. It didn’t reassure her in any way, of course, but, really, nothing was hazy or completely unclear. Her vision just felt…less precise. And she apparently couldn’t see in the dark right now, which was also cause for stress.

It was one thing to dream about Adam. It was another to dream about this. And it was a whole other problem to go from dreaming about Adam to then dreaming about this. Blake was probably having one of the worst nights of her life. She highly doubted she would be able to function in the morning.

A vague wave of pain went through her right arm again, and Blake looked down at it. It was in a cast. And it felt broken. This was incredibly unpleasant.

Something else caught her attention, though. The clothes she was wearing. An orange tank top with short black shorts. Blake suddenly felt naked and ashamed, but that wasn’t the most pressing issue on her mind.

She didn’t recognize her body. The proportions were larger, more muscled. And her skin was tanned. As a new kind of panic began to grip her, Blake searched the room for a mirror, not comprehending what could possibly be going on. She had to find a way to wake up. In certain regards, this was worse than her nightmares about Adam.

Her eyes landed on a bureau not far from the bed, where a mirror stood against the wall. Blake cautiously walked over to it, and took a step back in alarm when someone else stared back at her.

For a moment Blake’s mind couldn’t understand that her reflection was, in fact, her. The girl might have moved when she moved, blinked when she blinked, breathed when she breathed, and her right arm was also in a cast, but she was nothing like Blake.

However, this _was_ a mirror, and the Faunus was forced to assume that whoever this person was, it was _her_ now—at least, this was her dream-self. Not literally—at least, not in the sense that Blake had ever wished she looked like this, specifically, but…

Well, Blake stepped closer to the mirror, both disturbed and somewhat fascinated. A wild mane of thick, slightly curly and ruffled golden locks framed a striking face, lilac eyes adorned by long blonde eyelashes. She had the kind of beauty that was both young and friendly but also mature and sensual, innocent laugh lines at the corners of her eyes and almost full lips that seemed conflicted on whether to be pouty or mischievous. There was something warm and inviting about her features while simultaneously being unabashedly alluring and confident.

This girl was built stronger than Blake. Although clearly muscular and generally bigger—but not that much taller—her figure was also feminine in all the right places—the size of her chest, the slimness of her waist, and the width of her hips were enough to make any woman envious…or perhaps covetous. Blake didn’t dare uncover anymore skin, but her neck definitely felt hotter and her eyes widened a little at the definition in this girl’s midriff— _abs_ that Blake had wanted for years. She had to bite her lip to stop herself from staring.

However, Blake then noticed herself biting her lip and was immediately embarrassed to be ogling this body that was, apparently, her own. It was highly inappropriate. She wasn’t even a Faunus anymore—which was probably the most frightening part, honestly, and it explained the underdeveloped senses. Further, there were more urgent things to investigate, such as her current predicament.

 _Okay, enough_. Blake turned away from the mirror, much to her own regret—and horror at even feeling regret—taking in the room. The bed was against the wall in the corner, a window above it. There was a closet in the wall facing the foot of the bed, a carpet on the wooden floorboards, and apart from the bureau and a chair next to it, there was no other furniture. The bureau, however, had framed pictures on its surface.

This body was the common denominator between all the images, but they were group photos with other people who Blake did not know. One man kind of looked like her dreaming-self, though. She didn’t understand. Another person that was in most of the pictures was a young girl with short, red-tipped hair and silver eyes. Blake honestly did not recognize any of these individuals, but they were all smiling and they all seemed happy.

Determining that these images were unhelpful—and mildly suspicious, if Blake was honest—she decided that she would have to explore whatever was beyond that door. This dream was inexplicably realistic and conjured details she could not find the origin of, and a large part of her remained wary and nervous because of these factors. Maybe she could find some clues within this dream that would help elucidate why her mind clung to it to begin with.

Blake walked back to the door and took a deep breath in before slowly exhaling. She turned the light off, plunging the world back into darkness, and waited until she could at least see a foot or two in front of herself before grabbing the knob. One of her teammates back at Haven had told her one time this was how human vision worked. And it did. Blake then carefully turned the knob, opening the door as quietly as possible, wincing at every small creak the hinges made.

So far so good, though. There was no one on the other side, and Blake tentatively stepped into what seemed to be a narrow hallway. She kept her ears open, straining as much as possible to hear any alarming sounds. Blake definitely missed her two furry feline appendages. She felt naked, more than a little powerless, and completely alone right now. It was impossible to tell if she actually _was_ alone in this place, though. And Blake didn’t exactly want to try investigating any other closed doors. There was a window at the right end of the hallway that allowed her to see three doors here, although the one closest to her on the opposing side was open halfway.

To Blake’s left, the Faunus could just make out the outline of a staircase going down. Heart pounding, she crept towards it, hating how her steps were not as silent as she had trained them for years to be. She started descending the stairs one at a time, holding the handrail to keep some weight off her feet, cursing her casted right arm.

She made it to the bottom in one piece, though, and apparently without alerting anything or anyone. Blake found that she could see a bit better down here where more windows allowed moonlight to filter in and illuminate her way. She was in a kitchen, with a heavy door that undoubtedly led outside on the other side of the modest dining table.

Whatever this place was, it wasn’t some weird warehouse or secret base for some shady organization. It was just a regular home—probably a cabin, if all the wooden floors and walls were any indication. Blake was tempted to go outside anyway, to escape this feeling of being trapped, but if this was a dream—and she was beginning to think it was actually another vision of some sorts because it felt too real and far too unprompted—then she figured outside wasn’t where she would find clues.

Blake’s gaze wandered to her right, past the island and the kitchen table, and found an archway that seemed to lead into a living room. It appeared that this downstairs area was all one big, open space for the most part. She cautiously made her way towards said living room, but it was darker there where the rays of the moon couldn’t reach. Did Blake dare switch on a light? She again cursed her lacking night vision.

Blake took another calming breath in and then decided she didn’t have much of a choice. Plus, if all of this was taking place in her mind, then she couldn’t actually be hurt if anything happened, right? It wasn’t much of a comforting thought, but Blake still managed to find a tall lamp in the corner and ran the risk. With a _click_ , there was light.

The living room was just as modest as the kitchen, with a couch facing a holoscreen set against the far wall and a long, rectangular coffee table separating the two. There were three other armchairs, all of the furniture placed on a large rug. A fireplace adorned the back wall, rock masonry around it, more framed photos placed on the mantle above. It was quite a warm and cozy area, actually—familial and, while not especially fancy, rather inviting to behold. Blake’s gaze landed on something that caught her attention—there was a bookcase on the wall to her left, all by itself. She approached it, finding that some of the shelves were used to store a collection of movies and games—most of them electronic, some of them actual board games. But the bottom two shelves contained books.

Blake pulled out a few, raising her eyebrows when she saw that they were leather-bound storybooks for children. She checked some of the others, finding more short stories. Finally, though, she picked out a larger book that was not like the rest—it was a textbook on basic mechanical engineering.

She really didn’t know what this meant. Whatever this was—a dream or a vision, it mattered little at this point—Blake couldn’t comprehend what her brain was trying to tell her. None of this was familiar or relevant in any sort of way—in fact, it was all so far removed from Blake and her entire life that she didn’t understand how she was even imagining any of it.

Blake suddenly heard a creaking noise upstairs, followed by a few footsteps moving above. Her heart rate immediately accelerated, and she put the book back in the shelf just as she heard a door opening. Her gaze darted around her surroundings, searching for a good place to hide.

“Yang?” came a man’s voice from the staircase, calling out in a hushed tone. “Why are you awake? It’s the middle of the night. Do you need anything?”

Blake looked down at herself again, panicking, trying to figure out what her relationship was with this man. Were they in love? Were they married but in separate bedrooms? There were no proper hiding areas, and this man sounded genuinely concerned. She had no idea who Yang was, but taking a wild guess and chance, she decided to reply with this higher-pitched voice that betrayed her fear too easily, “N-no. I’m fine. Going back to bed now!”

“Okay. Well, do you need any help while I’m up?”

“No—no, thank you. Um, I’ll be upstairs in a moment…”

“Oh, okay. That’s good.” Blake heard the man’s footsteps creak on the floor above and the previous door begin to whine shut, but the noise stopped again. “Honey, if you’re going to make anything for food, make sure to put things away after. We don’t want another moldy cheese incident, after all!”

Blake’s—or not-Blake’s—brows furrowed. Maybe this _was_ her husband, but something in the way this man addressed her and their shared past made Blake think this could be a father-daughter relationship instead.

But as the man began laughing, Blake unfortunately laughed, too. It was a forced noise that she felt was her only protection in this dream that could become a nightmare at any second. The joke wasn’t funny or existent, but if her maybe-husband-maybe-dad laughed, then she would laugh, too. “Sure thing!” she affected. “I will definitely be sure to do that!”

“All right. Sweet dreams, then, sweetie.”

Barf.

Blake heard the man’s footsteps disappear and his door close. For all intents and purposes, he was gone and out of Blake’s life. She waited a few seconds, just to be certain of his absence and making sure her unreliable human senses did not fail her at such a critical time. He was asleep again, or at least inconsequential to the dream. Being a tidy sort, she habitually checked the storybook and engineering tome to push them into perfectly imperfect alignment—just as they had been before—and switched off the lamp. She did not breathe this entire time, and then she decided to ascend the steps.

She could have left just then. The front door had been in the kitchen, not a far distance from the stairs, and surely she would wake if she sprinted past the bounds of this dream. Well, not surely, but more surely than if she ascended the stairs and fulfilled the dream’s apparent narrative purpose. But going back to sleep was the less stressful option, and, if any of her past dreams had been any indicator, it would be just as good of a way to wake her up.

But, then again, this could be another vision—like the previous dream with the Grimm. Everything certainly felt as real as last time, if with far less pain, and Blake was sufficiently weirded out, so this very well could have been such an event. If this was the case, then fulfilling the purpose of this scenario might lend her insight to other crucial areas of her life, like her self-definition or how she could deal with Dane.

Either way, she climbed the steps with bated breath and footsteps unbelievably loud. She winced at the top step as it creaked, but this only spurred her on faster. Her maybe-husband-maybe-father’s door was closed, hidden among all the doors that were not her room or that once-ajar door that was still ajar, so she felt no shame in rushing over to where she had come from. She was loud, scared, but certain that this was what she needed to do.

That is, she _was_ certain. Upon reaching her door, Blake felt an unmistakable calm wash over her, as if she were drowning from this dream and accepting her end gracefully. But she did not die, nor did she feel like she would. Her head felt light, and her mood felt good, and as Blake tried to step into her dream-body’s room, she failed. Her knees buckled. She fell face-forward. Her body sprawled across the room’s threshold. Blake tumbled through oblivion.

For a moment, she was lost. There was a distinct falling sensation paired with an impatience that made her feel like she wasn’t going anywhere. It was a feeling that put her right on the edge of nausea, seconds before a headache and one inhale away from a sneeze. But then she woke up, eyelids flying open and a spasm jolting through her body.

Silver jumped off her lap and hissed. But this only lasted a second before she asked, “Meow?”

Blake’s body— _Blake_ ’s body—felt heavy and as if it did not want to leave the canyon it had pressed into her living room sectional. It was as if she had just been nodding off but something had made her wake up suddenly, in a new place and with an angry cat who only liked being the little spoon, never sitting on her owner’s lap. Well, Silver wasn’t angry anymore, but the situation was still alarming. As Blake’s mind scrambled to catch up with her, she remembered that she had fallen asleep in her bed. Now, however, she was staring at the moon. The curtains were pulled open, Blake’s feet were curled up under her, and her tired but freshly awake eyes strained at the amount of light beaming through the open window.

“Mreow?”

Blake looked down and saw her cat jump from the floor onto the couch. Silver was standing next to Blake, judging her.

“Uh, hi,” managed Blake, looking again at the window. When had she opened the curtains? Why? It had become apparent by this point that, indeed, that dream had been another vision, which, like the last time, had caused Blake to do things without her knowledge.

Silver walked over and pressed her head against Blake’s belly. She purred.

There was a tuna can on the coffee table beside an empty water bottle with no coaster underneath it. Blake began scratching her cat’s ears. She could taste the tuna in her mouth, still, and it wasn’t a very appealing experience. Blake definitely liked tuna, but waking up to the taste of tuna she hadn’t gotten to eat was distressing to say the least.

On top of that, she felt sticky. Her brow was a bit sweaty, her tank top was clinging to her chest, and when she reached up to feel her hair, it felt a bit damp near her skull. Blake stayed where she was for a moment, registering her awakening and the general disorder of her situation while she continued petting Silver. Something had gone wrong, and no matter what it was, Blake could only focus on cleaning up for now. Solutions would come in the morning.

After a minute, Blake shooed Silver away and stood, feeling her bones and joints uncharacteristically fight against her. She stretched, looked dolefully down at the remnants of her apparently wild, blackout night, and moved them into her kitchen’s garbage can.

And then she noticed the other can of tuna, open on the floor. Silver followed Blake into the room and began pushing the little blue can beneath one of the cabinets, but Blake picked it up before Silver could hide it any further. Being that she was already frowning, Blake sighed. She rarely gave Silver tuna. Whatever had happened, she must have been out of her mind. Silver whined as Blake put the can near the trash, and, deciding that not everything needed to be dysfunctional tonight, Blake placed the tuna back on the floor for Silver to finish.

Meanwhile, she decided, she would take care of this sweat.

Blake left the room and took a long, cool shower. Normally, she hated being under the water, but tonight she needed to get away from everything. First the nightmare, then the vision, and finally the house in some state of apparently drunken disarray. None of it made sense, particularly not the latter two problems, but Blake had no idea how to deal with the visions or how to make them stop. She might see the school counsellor eventually, but, for tonight, she needed to get back to bed. She had class in the morning, and she knew she would be so entirely exhausted as it was. When she turned off the faucet some twenty minutes later, she decided office hours would be cancelled tomorrow. She would nap during that time and then, when she got home, she would fix _everything_.

Silver, as it turned out, did not eat much more of her tuna, but Blake continued to leave it out because Silver didn’t like her approaching it and because Blake didn’t have the energy to care. Instead, she carried her clothes to her hamper, left them there for tomorrow, and, with a towel keeping her warm, returned to her room. Before she could find new pajamas, though, Blake noticed a flashing light on her scroll.

Normally, Blake would let any notification wait until the morning. Nothing was more important than sleep, especially considering how little time she had left until her classes. But something was off tonight. Something was weird.

She padded over to her nightstand, took a seat on the bed, and picked up her scroll. Once the light had finished blinding her and souring her mood, Blake saw the notification, and a pit formed in her stomach.

It was a text message from an unknown sender.

_Hey. So, there’s no way around this. This is gonna be an awkward question but here goes. Do you have a little grey jerk cat, a fridge full of tuna, and a Haven Academy pennant?_

Below this was a second text from the same person, having arrived ten minutes later.

 _Sorry_. _Wrong number_.

Blake’s heart went through a series of emotions. First, she felt horrified because this level of detail could only have come from a dedicated stalker. Second, she felt annoyed, figuring that this must have been a prank text from one of the students or other teachers. Third, she felt nothing as the weight of this text message settled over her. And finally, the weight hit her, and that pit in her stomach deepened and turned, pulling itself into a knot and causing her breath to catch nauseously.

Her fingers could barely support the weight of her scroll, and, shakily, she replied.

_Yes? Who is this?_

There was no response. Blake, despite her wishes for sleep, stayed up another hour waiting for another text. All the while her eyes were trained on her screen, watching, anticipating. This whole night had been weird, and the texts had been the worst part of all. Blake shut her scroll off and stared up at the ceiling. Whatever was happening—and something _was_ happening, and it was mortifying—it would have to wait for tomorrow. Blake didn’t know if she was being haunted or stalked, but she needed to sleep. So, for her own reassurance, she pulled Gambol Shroud out of her nightstand’s drawer and placed it on top, a bullet chambered and safety off.

For the time being, she would force herself to forget the texts. She had children depending on her, and she could not wait any longer to prioritize them. Blake closed her eyes and fell asleep thirty minutes later, thinking of the vision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look, i get it. this is rated m for mature. you expect swearing. or gore. or hardcore, potentially ultra-kinky sex. but frick no. as i have explained to you before, i am as vanilla as Häagen-Dazs vanilla bean ice cream. and i have standards to uphold, lives that depend on me. if i started swearing or killing or having sex, what would the children think? from focus group testing, i can assure you that children would think the following, ranked in order of most popular thoughts on the topic of my swearing, killing, or sexual activity to least popular:
> 
> “why”
> 
> “please”
> 
> “ok”
> 
> BUT BASICALLY, YOU’LL KNOW WHY THIS IS RATED THE WAY IT IS. BUT EVENTUALLY. BUT FOR NOW, I HOPE Y’ALL’LL HAVE A GOOD REST OF YOUR WEEKEND AND DRINK LOTS OF WATER. ALSO, MAYBE TRY A SASPARILLA. IT’S GOOD FOR YOUR BLOOD.
> 
> See you in the next chapter, mes petits dauphins.


	4. Contact

One of the many problems with having a broken arm was that even the most menial tasks proved stupidly difficult, no matter how hard Yang tried. But she had gotten real tired of doing nothing with her life, cooped up inside the house. Sure, she had been doing careful exercises and workouts to stay in shape and resting when it was convenient, but several hours still remained between these activities, wherein Yang thought she would die of boredom. Or maybe hang herself _out_ of boredom. Same thing, really.

Anyway, so Yang was restless and grumpy because life sucked and everyone was having fun without her. Sun hadn’t even kept his promise about visiting every day. His excuses were that he had a lot of work and that he trained regularly with his team, which were legitimate, but they still made Yang the pouty kind of miserable. At least he had come over this morning to bring her, Ruby, and Taiyang some breakfast and then stayed to chat and play a game of cards that everyone hated so much that it turned into a card-throwing competition instead. _Loads_ of excitement—note the sarcasm. Yang would have preferred a different kind of excitement with Sun, but apparently they were forbidden from leaving Taiyang’s sight. Or even sitting next to each other. And _especially “_ no footsies under the table.” Sometimes Yang wondered if her father thought she was twelve.

To say the least, after watching Sun leave shortly before lunchtime, Yang did not go back inside. She stood by the driveway, letting the breeze touch her skin and play with her hair as she soaked in the sunlight, taking a deep breath in and slowly exhaling to somewhat calm her itching need to go crazy. Recently, she was growing more and more convinced that she just might have lost her marbles.

Last night had pretty much proven that point. She had possessed—or, rather, not possessed but…did _something_ to—another girl, and there were so many levels of weirdness to it. The worst part, however, was finding out that the other girl was real and that she and Yang were pretty much obligated to talk to each other now. Yang didn’t even know what to say. She didn’t know what she _could_ say. “Hey, sorry I took over your body and definitely didn’t touch your boobs” would _not_ work. She sighed.

She needed to occupy her mind with something. It was annoying, both trying to think and not think about the text message she would inevitably have to send back, sooner rather than later. Yang shook her head and started walking, dirt crunching under her boots, which she still couldn’t tie. She made her way to the garage near the back of the cabin, and once she was by the front, she stopped for a moment. The door had to be lifted open. She could totally do this. Girl power. Totes.

Yang crouched down in front of it and gripped the indentation at the bottom with her left hand. Using all the strength she had forged over the years with her perfected squat form, she pushed and pulled upwards, and, slowly, the large and heavy garage door came up with her, creaking and groaning—also with her. Once it was high enough, she simply used her hand to push it all the way in along the ceiling.

Before her was a dusty but still somewhat organized and used space. The smell of timber and gasoline reached her nose, but Yang actually liked that. The left wall had tools hanging all over it, a waist-high metal ledge along its length with other tool boxes, dirty rags, and new and old mechanical parts left on the surface. A thick chain hung from the ceiling in support of presently nonexistent motors, and behind where it was anchored were two tall pressure tanks. There were a few random things lying around, like a broom in the right front corner or extra planks of wood lining the right wall, but, otherwise, the stars of the show were the broken lawnmower and the gleaming, perfect, wonderful, and powerful yellow motorcycle, set side by side in the middle of the cement floor.

Yang blew an exasperated raspberry as she decided what to do. A couple weeks ago, she had kind of agreed to fix her neighbor’s lawnmower at a price. She had done it before, it had worked, and then he had run the lawnmower over another big rock—so he brought it back. When Yang wasn’t out hunting, which, she had realized, was a surprising amount of time, she freelanced as a mechanic. It wasn’t all bad, considering her “business” only began when more and more neighbors started bringing their junk over to be fixed, but Yang enjoyed the work and she needed the extra money to move out eventually. She was actually fairly close to reaching her goal.

The problem with _that_ plan was that she was pretty sure she could do just about _zilch_ , _nada_ , _rien_ with her broken arm right now—the lawnmower was just too small and cramped of a piece to deal with. Yang’s motorcycle, on the other hand… Well, it definitely wasn’t not perfect—because it was completely perfect in every way—but it could always be more perfect. And it was right _there_.

She wandered inside and towards her bike, hopeful, touching the leather seat affectionately. It had actually been about two weeks now since she had last been in here. Between the missions and the nights out with Pyrrha and company (namely, Nora, Jaune, Ren, and sometimes Neptune)—and the dates with Sun—and the extra work and chores at home, and the injuries, Yang really hadn’t gotten a chance to put some love into Bumblebee these days. She sorta missed tinkering on her own.

Her gaze wandered to the counter by the wall, and upon seeing the shiny sphere-like object sitting there, Yang made her way over to it with interest. It was the gyroscope she was building to incorporate into her motorcycle. It wasn’t finished yet, but Yang was already super proud of her work—and super thankful to Ruby for giving her the idea. The two siblings had cooperated to create the blueprints, and then Yang had set to work on constructing the thing about a month ago. Using a convoluted system of electromagnets and sensors, the gyroscope would ideally detect if the bike was at risk of falling when the engine was off and then redistribute the force it generated by itself to push the bike in the opposite direction.

When Yang had tried explaining it to her friends, the response she had gotten was…mixed, if anything. Pyrrha had been supportive as usual, just as Sun had been, Jaune and Neptune were confused, Nora didn’t see the use in putting so much work into fixing something that wasn’t broken—unless, she said, if the kickstand were to mysteriously _become_ broken, then replacing it would be great!—and Ren just…nodded.

Yang slowly shook her head again. Her friends could be so frustrating sometimes, in the best way possible. But she was looking forward to finishing the gyroscope and testing it out. Despite misleading first impressions, Yang was really good with her hands and with putting things together—and taking them apart, too. Unfortunately, she still couldn’t do all that much with the gyroscope, after all. The supporting magnets needed to be bolted into place, and that was a process that required both of her hands. Yang sighed and returned to her bike, swinging her leg over the seat and sitting there grumpily for a second, frowning.

 

She was stalling, delaying the inevitable. It was completely insane, with no way to make heads or tails of the situation. Yet it was true.

Yang Xiao Long was switching bodies with this total stranger somewhere else in Vale. Her previous belief of her possessing some poor girl had flown right out the window when Yang had woken up drooling on her bedroom’s floor, nowhere near her bed enough to assume that she had fallen out of it in her sleep. Her body had moved, had gone somewhere to do something, and this had happened while she was doing the exact same thing in someone else’s body at the same time. No sleepwalking. Moreover, it absolutely explained Sun’s version of her escape from the Petra Gigas.

Because she hadn’t escaped, after all. They had switched places, and this other girl had escaped for her.

The revelation was of heavy consequence. Yang knew this stranger had saved her life. And all Yang had done in return was grope her and insult her surroundings…and cat. The blonde didn’t often feel ashamed of her past actions, and she tried to reason that she would have been a lot more respectful if she had known she wasn’t dreaming from the start, but this predicament was simply not the kind she could so easily shrug off. If it hadn’t been for this girl—this person who must have experienced incredible fear, pain, and confusion at suddenly facing a Petra Gigas and somehow finding a way to get to safety despite all that—Yang would have _died_.

She knew she owed that Faunus girl a very sincere thank you. This was a debt that could never truly be repaid. But…maybe there were certain pieces of information that could stay hush-hush. Yang felt too embarrassed.

She pulled out her scroll and opened it. Lilac eyes stared at the messages she had sent off and the one message she had received in reply, the one she had yet to respond to. This stranger probably had no idea what was going on. It was kind of awful. But Yang could not help her trepidation. What was she supposed to say? How would she possibly explain this without sounding absolutely bonkers? Even Yang, herself, didn’t have a single clue about how or why this was happening.

Deciding inaction was the biggest contributor to her anxiety, Yang bit the bullet and wrote.

_I was inside you_

Yang trashed this immediately.

_I was the girl who maybe made you sweat last night_

Nope.

_I am the girl whose soul climbed inside of your body and_

Literally never.

A writer Yang was not. She had half a mind to take this issue to Ruby, who, while not being much of a wordsmith, herself, had much more experience dealing with awkwardness and delivering bad news. But then Yang realized: 1. Ruby couldn’t know about this body-switching thing. It was just too…out there. And she likely wouldn’t even believe Yang in the first place. 2. Ruby had become awful at giving bad news—Yang could only think about the time when she had woken up from her recent injury, and she started to get annoyed again. _Twenty-five years_ …

Then she thought about taking it to Pyrrha, whose positivity and courage always helped Yang find something to say, even if it wasn’t perfect. But Yang couldn’t leave the house with her dad keeping her “bedridden.” Fortunately, she then realized she didn’t have to travel to get Pyrrha’s help.

Instead, she sent, _Hey hypothetical: if u were a girl who was inside another girl and had control of her body and she just found out, what would u say to her?_ Yang smiled. Suddenly, her not-a-writer status was hilarious.

Only a few seconds later, Pyrrha returned with, _Are you gay????_ and then, _What about Sun?_

 _Yea, he’s prolly gay._ Yang’s eyes searched the air somewhere in the corner of the room. There was nothing there except a wonderful idea. _And no, i'm not gay, per se. But y? U offering?_

_I’M ENGAGED. JAUNE IS RIGHT BESIDE ME._

_That’s not a no sweet cheeks_

It took a moment before Pyrrha replied. In that time, Yang realized she was stalling again, what with all her jokes and bad questions and even badder come-ons, and she didn’t feel any shame for it. But she should. This was a pretty important situation, and it deserved sobriety. But then again…Pyrrha.

Yang’s scroll buzzed.

  _I’m not sure I understand the question. I assume you don’t mean sex with another girl, though I imagine you also do… It’–s really hard to tell with you sometimes._

Deciding to forgo jokes for _just_ a little bit, Yang replied, _If u were in a situation where u possessed someone else, and u knew there number and u knew they could respond, what would u say?_

_I’d try to make sure the person is who I think she is._

_Yea, got it. Next?_

_Yang, do you have something to tell me?_

_Nah. Just a random question. Bored cuz of this injuryyyyyy_

_Ooookayyyyyy… Well, I’d be honest with her. If I were in that position, I’d be a little scared, and I’d want to know exactly what’s going on and who you are. But I don’t know. Maybe I wouldn’t want to know at all._

_Yea, but what would u actually sayyyy_

_Something that comes from the heart, Yang._

Yang’s shoulders slumped. All these jokes were not just delaying the inevitable; they were making the inevitable that much harder to accomplish. Pyrrha was right—she didn’t know how right she was, but she was seriously and completely right. The solution to Yang’s problem was not a couple magic words or diplomatic phrasing. She had figured this out already. It was initiative that would make this problem go away—initiative combined with honesty and frankness. The issue was communication, and Yang knew the only solution was to actually communicate. No more stalling.

She typed out, _Ok thanks tell Jaune I say hello_

A few seconds later, Pyrrha responded, _He says hello back. Is there anything else you want to say to him? Just let me know if you do! :D_

Yang looked forward to teasing Pyrrha and her fiancé, but she would have to do that later. Right now, Yang had a fire in her eyes and a pit in her stomach. She would text this other girl. She would be honest, direct, and sincere. And she would text her _right now_.

* * *

“During the Great War, the Kingdom of Atlas established a massive prison colony on an island just south of Anima. Fitting, because they called this colony ‘Menagerie.’ This is a word that has meant ‘a collection of wild animals to be put on display,’ and, largely, the only prisoners sent to Menagerie were Faunus who mined dust in Vacuo.”

Blake was standing behind her desk, facing her History class and lecturing them about Menagerie. Above her was a slightly green holoscreen, showing a map of Remnant that was getting progressively closer to that southeastern island. All things considered, the class was going well. She already had her teaching legs under her and there was no one asking stupid questions. If anything could be said to be bad, though, it would literally be everything else.

Blake was exhausted. She wanted to sit down and rest while she gave this lecture, but she knew her current standing position was the only thing keeping her awake. Further, she had to be on her toes because any one of these students—or not any one of these students—could be the stalker that she maybe, most likely had. She had told herself that paranoia could wait, but she had been lying. This weirdness couldn’t wait. Crime didn’t rest, so neither could Blake—she would know, having been on both sides of the can’t-sleep problem.

A hand gradually rose up in the amphitheater seats, and Blake just about shot it. She was jumpy, her hand perpetually stuck to the desk drawer that concealed Gambol Shroud. But she caught herself and smiled at the young man—Rock of Team AFTR—bidding him to speak.

“Were only Faunus sent?”

 Blake’s smile persisted. It was a bit hard to keep the façade up, considering her wellbeing, but she wanted to make sure Rock and all the other quieter students knew they were welcome to speak their minds. “At first, no. Menagerie was like any other prison colony founded by Atlas, except it was bigger and newer. Initially, Atlas’ prisoners of war were brought to Menagerie alongside Faunus who disobeyed their Vacuo-based mining companies. But as the mining companies became stricter with Faunus and began instituting new racially motivated regulations, the Faunus population on the island began to boom. Then, as we shall see later, the Faunus Rights Revolution led to even more arrests, and, eventually, Menagerie became a predominately Faunus prison colony. At that point, the other prisons began transferring all of their Faunus inmates to Menagerie while all of Menagerie’s humans were taken elsewhere.”

She used this opportunity to switch to her next presentation material, a heatmap of Menagerie. Her attention turned away from Rock, who jotted down Blake’s response in his notebook, and toward the rest of her class, sweeping her eyes across them. They were all blurs in her tiredness, but eye contact helped establish connections.

As the red specks on the overhead map began to grow and disperse, Blake said, “Menagerie began with one prison compound in Pohaku in the modern-day Wai province. Larger compounds later spread to the Ahi province cities of Mau Loa and Uhane with the largest eventually being established in Menagerie’s capital of Kuo Kuana.” The little red dots had grown into big dots over all the major cities Blake mentioned.

Another student raised their hand. Blake allowed them to speak. “Um, Professor Belladonna, could you write out those names? I’m not exactly sure how to spell them.”

From a seat in the direct center of the class, a hushed voice caught the attention of Blake’s ears. It was Argent, who, rolling her eyes, mumbled into her papers, “Just look inside your book. That’s more work for the professor. _Gosh_.”

Faraday, who sat beside her and whose face was a perpetual tomato, whispered back furiously, “ _Ari_! Look at her ears! She can _hear_ you!”

Argent blinked and probably died a little on the inside. “…I’m sorry,” she said very, very quietly.

Oh dear. On one hand, Blake wanted laugh. But on the other hand, she wanted to cry. “Certainly,” she said, keeping her amusement in check, but she knew fulfilling the student’s request would be easier said than done. In fact, putting the names under or over the red dots was fairly simple in the program she was using—all she had to do was mouse over and click on the dots before typing in whatever words she wanted. Unfortunately, that meant she had to move a little and remove a hand from her desk. That meant she was liable to topple over. But the students needed to know these names. This was pressure. 

With a forced look of calmness, Blake removed her hand from Gambol Shroud’s drawer and stepped to her laptop before mousing over to Kuo Kuana’s large dot. But as she began to hunt and peck with that same hand, the other supporting her weight on the desk, her ears flickered to a different noise in the classroom. Her bag was buzzing—her _scroll_ was buzzing. Her typing faltered for a moment, Blake’s eyes locked on the leather shoulder bag by her feet. She could see a blinking light. On instinct, she wanted to reach for Gambol Shroud. It wouldn’t do much good, but the thought at least warded off her worry.

Her exhaustion made her stare at the blinking light for longer than necessary, but Blake finally tore her gaze away from it and refocused on her current task. At least, she tried to. And for the most part, she managed to keep populating the city and province names on the holoscreen—kind of a mechanical process, as she knew the locations by heart—but her mind was officially distracted.

Blake had received a message. She didn’t usually receive messages—or ever, really. And there was only one person she had recently texted, the same person who had failed to reply last night and who was one of the causes of Blake’s strife today. More than likely, that was them now. For her sanity’s sake, Blake felt like she needed to check the message immediately. But she couldn’t. It was her first semester teaching, and doing something like that would get her fired. She was anxious, but it would have to wait until after class.

After writing out all the names she had mentioned earlier and waiting a minute for the students to finish copying them, Blake carried on to the next part of her explanations. She didn’t have the energy to move back to where she had been, and she did find herself occasionally glancing at the drawer where Gambol Shroud was—missing its proximity—or even down at the blinking light in her bag, but Blake put forth a long-suffering effort to keep track of what she was even saying. She could hear her voice, but the words coming out of her mouth did not always register in her brain.

Her students weren’t asking many questions, though, too busy scribbling down the information, and they didn’t seem confused or disinterested, either, so Blake took comfort in this. Perhaps she was still managing to be coherent despite her feeling of being completely nonsensical—which was good because she wanted her students to succeed.

“But I can assure you,” she found herself saying sometime deep into the lecture, “that Menagerie is now much safer and more peaceful than it used to be since the disbanding of the White Fang and the dissolving of its political influence.” There were only fifteen minutes left of class. She decided to add a personal comment, if only to reassure her students further—or maybe to reassure herself. “Last time I visited, Kuo Kuana was a lovely and warm place to vacation in—not the den of criminals the news would have you believe. This was just last summer. The citizens seem happier and the crime rate has dropped significantly within the past few years, and the current chief is collaborating with Remnant’s human leaders to open up Menagerie’s borders in the hopes of establishing more friendly relations.”

There was a brief silence, but then a timid voice suddenly broke it, unbidden. Blake’s gaze landed on Faraday as she hesitantly asked, “Professor Belladonna, I saw this on your syllabus, but…were you actually a member of the White Fang?”

Right. Blake had indeed put that on her syllabus. On all of them. Suddenly, her tiredness and stalker messages and weird visions meant very little. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that one of her students was finally asking about it. In fact, Blake should have expected this, maybe even sooner than now. Yet she still felt wholly unprepared to answer. And her tiredness, although not all that important at the moment, nevertheless made it taxing for Blake to gather an intelligent response.

At least Faraday sounded like she was genuinely curious, maybe even concerned. That helped take off some of the edge her question had prompted. “Um, yes, I was,” Blake finally said, but her voice came out quieter than she had wanted and she was looking down at her laptop instead of her students. She struggled to keep her composure, to remain confident, but this was the best she could do right now, given her state. “I…left when I was sixteen. It stopped standing for the values I believed in. But…well, leaving was still one of the most distressing decisions I’ve ever had to make.”

“Do you regret it?” came Ouron’s nasally voice from one of the top rows.

Blake couldn’t tell if he was being snide or sincere. She also couldn’t determine what he was referencing. “Do I regret what? Leaving the White Fang or being a part of it?”

“Leaving.”

Ah. So, he probably was being snide. And vaguely racist, honestly. Blake sighed. “No, Ouron.” She set a narrowed stare on him. “I’m not happy that I aligned myself with murderers, thieves, vandals, and terrorists. I was naïve and thought I knew everything and ended up seeing the world through a warped perspective.” It was incredibly tempting to add “kind of like you,” but Blake was satisfied with her subtle implication, whether he caught it or not. She let the matter go, though—Blake knew she was being petty, anyway, and that was hardly acceptable on her part—and returned her amber gaze to Faraday. “I made a lot of mistakes that I feel awful for. But I promise I’m not here to insidiously spread White Fang propaganda.”

Faraday blinked a few times, but then she seemed to shrink into herself. She looked down at her papers and nodded, a curious little smile on her lips.

A hand next to Faraday went up, but Tope spoke before Blake could even acknowledge him. “Professor, did you ever kill anyone?”

On the other side of Faraday, Argent gasped, looking supremely offended.

Blake didn’t know how to respond. She hadn’t thought anyone would actually ask that. Despite his happy, lackadaisical expression, Tope had a lot of nerve. She didn’t know if there was some kind of etiquette about asking people if they had committed murder, but still, Blake couldn’t fathom that question being appropriate in any context…except maybe if it were a police interrogation, which this certainly was not. Fortunately, she didn’t have to answer him. She was saved by the bell—literally. It rang, marking the end of the class.

Blake could not have let out a more relieved sigh. The class started packing their belongings into their bags, everyone’s questions about the White Fang and murder being pushed aside by more important matters. Blake finally allowed herself to drop into her chair. She couldn’t help it—she closed her eyes for a moment, massaging her brow with her fingers. Having cancelled her office hours for today, she was looking forward to getting home and getting some sleep. Yet her day felt far from over.

“Professor Belladonna?” a shy voice asked. “Um, are you okay?”

Blake opened her eyes, catching sight of Faraday and Argent standing by her desk, both girls looking worried. She attempted a strained smile. “Yes. Don’t concern yourself over me. I just need sleep.”

“Professor, I’m going to have a considerable chat with Tope,” Argent declared, determined. “His question was totally indiscreet, and I’m deeply sorry you had to deal with that.”

Blake really didn’t have the energy to argue or tell Argent that she didn’t have to bother. The poor Tope—facing Argent’s anger seemed scary. Even Blake was a little intimidated by this girl’s forwardness. Instead, Blake merely said, “It’s okay, Argent, I promise.”

“I hope you feel better soon, Professor Belladonna,” Faraday said, quiet and almost squeaking.

“And if you ever need to talk to anyone—”

“We can’t be friends.” Blake’s gaze was tired and impatient. “But thank you for the condolences.”

Argent seemed like she had something else to say, some heartfelt assurance of Blake’s not being alone or the strength one can draw from friendship, but Faraday was thankfully quick enough to shut her down. With a few hurried whispers to her leader and a sheepish smile to Blake, she was able to get Argent to relent and begin walking out of the room with nothing more than an “I hope you enjoy the rest of your day!” Blake sighed again, watching the two girls leave. When the door automatically swung closed behind them, and when it closed with an echoing _click_ , Blake was alone. Finally.

In an attempt to be aloof and controlled, Blake simply looked out at the empty amphitheater while her fingertips raked slowly down her cheeks. But she was not aloof and controlled right now. Not at all. Her looking and raking lasted only a second before Blake, with a vigor she had not known she possessed, snatched up her bag and practically dumped her scroll out on to the desk. It skittered for a distance, but she made sure to grab it. As she pulled the two end grips apart, the screen lit up and revealed a text notification.

It was from the same number as last night.

It was the stalker.

_My name is Yang. You probably aren’t going to believe what I’m saying here because it’s really weird and I’m not completely sure this is what’s happening, but I think you and me have been switching bodies. It’s happened twice now, and the first time it happened, you saved my life. I wanted to thank you for that (sincerely) and figure out what’s going on._

Blake blinked. That was about all she could do for a minute. She reread the message several times, and, each time she did, it seemed to reveal new truths about the two “visions” she had. The fear she felt from the Petra Gigas, the pain she had felt with a broken arm, the stranger who stared back at her in the mirror, the sudden unconsciousness and eventual waking up somewhere else—and the _name_. Yang. The mere concept of switching bodies offended her sensibilities—because, for all intents and purposes, such an action could not be anything more than fiction. Souls or consciousness or sovereign selves did not change bodies, and they most certainly did not _exchange_ bodies. But somehow Blake knew that this was the truth. It was the only explanation that made sense despite the fact that it was literally impossible.

Without knowing what to say, or what she could say, Blake gawked at her scroll. Her fingers, however, began slowly typing out her thoughts.

_Why? Who are you? Are you stalking me?_

These thoughts were genuine, Blake believed, but she did not send them. How could she? They did not solve any problem, pose any helpful question, or address the giant, humungous elephant that just rammed its way into the room. Blake deleted her message and tried again, putting forth a request that would hopefully give an answer to multiple unformed questions at once.

 _Describe your room_ , she simply replied.

It took a long, nerve-racking moment, but Blake eventually received a response.

_Yeah, okay one second._

The next minute and a half was rough, to say the very least. For some reason, Blake had forgotten social codes and thought “one second” would actually be one tick of the second hand on an analogue clock. But then another second passed, and then another, and then all the tiredness and worry seemed to vanish from Blake’s body, leaving her with only the thought of switching bodies.

What did this entail? Well, it meant Blake had been in this girl’s body— _Yang_ ’s body—while Yang had been in hers. It meant Blake had interacted with Yang’s husband or father while Yang had eaten tuna and made Silver affectionate. It meant Blake had saved Yang’s life while Yang had been crying—while Yang had been fearing immanent death. It meant pressure. Blake felt cold and wanted to run home and sleep away the rest of the day and forget everything about this text, but, by then, Yang had replied.

_So, when you enter my room, the first thing you’re gonna see is a window against the back wall. Right up against that is my bed. Beside my bed on the right wall is my dresser and mirror and a chair. There are pictures of me and my dad and my sister on that. Across from them is a closet. That’s on the left wall. And then there’s a big rug underneath all that._

Blake remembered every part of that room from her last vision. Either this Yang had somehow infiltrated her mind and dreams and stolen experiential information or they really had switched bodies. At this point, Blake was certain the latter was true. Somehow. It still didn’t make sense.

 _Okay_ , she texted back. _Now describe yourself, if you would._

Blake had wanted to say something to clarify her request, something along the lines of “I think I saw you in your mirror,” but she figured it would be better if she held as many cards to her chest as possible. However, being that she had apparently saved this girl’s life—and being that this had caused great distress for both of them, evidently—Blake sent another message, adding, _Please_.

A minute later, Yang responded.

_Uh. I’m 24. I’m blonde. I’m a huntress. I have purple eyes. Broken arm right now. It’s stupid. I guess I’m kind of toned but idk if that’s gonna last much longer with this stupid arm._

It all checked out. To say Blake was stunned would be an understatement. But, goodness, was she stunned. Her world felt like it had just gotten turned on its head and spun around to the point where she wanted to vomit, which she presently considered doing. There were a lot of layers to this problem—Why was this happening? Why Yang? What had Yang done in her body? What had Blake done to Yang?—but Blake felt helpless trying to reveal even one. Unfortunately, she did not have time to attempt revealing any layer because Yang had texted her again.

_Do you think you could describe yourself too? No pressure or anything. I just wanna know if you’re who I think you are as well._

Then she texted again.

_I mean, I kinda know its you because of the cat and the pennant thing, but anybody could say yes to that._

Blake wanted to refuse. She had _just_ finished laboring over how to describe herself to her students, and she did not want to come up with a new description for the girl she was apparently switching bodies with. Moreover…describing herself physically was tough, even for Blake who considered herself a halfway decent amateur writer in secret.

In the time Blake took to deliberate, however, Yang had texted her yet again.

When Blake opened the message, she found a picture instead of words. It was Yang—the same blonde-haired, cheery-eyed, mischievous-but-beautiful girl she had seen in the mirror—but she was smiling nervously and looked like eye contact with her camera was straining on whatever resolve she could muster. She looked so different from the confidence she had seemed to emanate last night. Nevertheless, the picture made this whole situation a little more manageable. Yang looked just about as freaked out as Blake felt, and something about her smile and messages made Blake feel oddly at ease. 

_Well, I’m a feline Faunus. I have cat ears, black hair, honey eyes, I usually wear something on the monochrome gradient, and I’m a huntress, too._

She then added in another message, perhaps awkwardly, _I’m also twenty-four_.

Approaching twenty-five, honestly, but Blake didn’t think that was necessary or important to mention.

 _Oh cool!_ Yang texted. _I kinda figured that because of your Haven pennant. But uh do you know what’s happening or what we can do to stop this?_

_I’m sorry, Yang, but I do not._

_Do you maybe wanna call and talk about it? This arm is making texting hard._

Blake massaged the back of her neck and then passed her hand through her hair as she looked around the room again. No, she did not want to call and talk about it—but she knew she had to. The situation was highly disturbing and intrusive on so many levels—for both of them—and it had to stop. And the only way to have a chance at making it stop was talking and discussing options.

But she couldn’t talk right now. She had to leave the classroom before the next professor came in. So, Blake sent off a quick _Let me get home first. I’ll message you in about half an hour._

She didn’t wait to see if Yang responded. Instead, Blake shut her laptop and packed it into her bag with her books and scroll before pulling the strap over her shoulder. Gambol Shroud was pulled out of the drawer, rearranged from its gun form to its cleaver form, and fixed onto her back. She stood and swayed, putting a steadying hand on the desk for a moment, blinking a few times again to clear the blur in her vision. She was far too tired for any of this today. Far too tired. And she still had to walk home. Blake wanted to cry.

Nevertheless, she exhaled shakily and gathered what little determination she had before tightening her hold on her bag’s strap and heading out of the amphitheater.

* * *

Screaming internally. Yang felt an urge to bash her forehead against the wall repeatedly.

 _I’ll message you in about half an hour_. How was Yang going to survive waiting that long? She was already pacing back and forth around the house, having left her room after taking that selfie, and even her home was starting to feel too small for the exercise she most likely needed.

That girl was definitely _the girl_. The description matched. They truly were switching bodies. And they were going to talk in…

“Ugh! How has it only been five minutes?” Yang stopped in the living room and glared at her scroll. Twenty-five minutes left to go. This was almost worse than her broken arm. She hadn’t even asked for this girl’s name, for crying out loud! How could she have forgotten something so basic? That was going to be one of the first things Yang would ask once they called each other.

“Yang, you’re in the wayyyyy!” Ruby complained loudly. She was on the couch, trying to watch something on the holoscreen…which Yang was almost standing directly in front of.

Frustrated, Yang mumbled an apology and went to fall down on one of the armchairs nearby. By all means, she wasn’t upset with the cat girl at all. It was totally normal that a person wouldn’t be home. Or maybe Yang had expected her to be home because she seemed to lead a quiet life. But maybe the girl didn’t. Maybe she was often not at home during the day. Maybe she had things to do. Just like how Yang had things to do when she wasn’t crippled. Whatever the case, Yang was frustrated with not being able to resolve this immediately. She was supposed to be a woman of action!

Much to Ruby’s audible displeasure, Yang found herself on her feet again, walking out of the living room and into the kitchen, eyes glued to her scroll. It was dumb—she knew the longer she stared, the slower time would pass. 

“What are you even doing, anyway?” Ruby called out, curious and vaguely annoyed.

The blonde froze, scrambling for some kind of answer that would make a semblance of sense. “Watching basketball?” she tried.

“It’s Thursday, Yang. Games aren’t on until later.”

“Yeah, well…” Yang narrowed her eyes at the back of Ruby’s head, which just peeked over the back of the couch. “Your face.”

“I’m hungry. Make us lunch.”

Yang almost chucked her scroll at Ruby. Under any other _regular_ circumstance, it would have been Yang’s pleasure to cook something up for just the two of them. There were only good memories associated with Yang taking care of Ruby that way. She loved that girl to death, but right now, _man_ , could little sisters be infuriating when they took things for granted. “Do I look like I’m in a condition to do anything remotely useful?”

Ruby’s silver eyes peered back over her shoulder at Yang sheepishly, finding that— _surprisingly_ —Yang’s arm was still broken. “Oops. Right. Sorry.” She jumped up from the couch. “Well, in that case, _I’ll_ make something for us!” She began striding towards Yang with a youthful, completely misplaced zeal.

Yang grimaced. “That sounds like a terrible idea.” Ruby couldn’t cook to save her life. Instead, before Ruby could come any closer, the older sibling set her scroll on the counter and went over to the freezer to check if there were any TV dinners she could put in the microwave.

Ruby, having given up on her stove-bound course, sat at the island counter on one of the stools. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” she said. “I was trying to be helpful, since you’re crippled and in a bad mood.”

The cool air of the freezer managed to calm Yang down some, but she frowned at its contents. “Yeah, I’m sorry, too.” She meant it. With a bit of a sigh, Yang grabbed two packages of potato and meat dinners, shut the freezer door, and brought the meals over to the microwave. “Remind me to grill you some burgers when I can use my arm again.”

“Uh-huh. Acting like I hadn’t already planned on that.” Ruby giggled. “But for real, why are you so focused on your scroll?”

There was no way Yang could tell Ruby the truth. While she mulled over what she could possibly tell her younger sister, Yang stuck one of the packages in the microwave and rotated her finger over the touch-pad circle to the five-minute mark. She pressed the start button, and the machine came to life with a dull, probably radioactive hum.

Finally, Yang turned towards Ruby, leaning her back on the counter by the microwave. “I’m just…really bored and restless. I don’t know what to do with myself with this cast stopping me from being active. Maybe I’m going stir-crazy.”

Ruby contemplated this for a couple minutes, hand stroking her tiny and beardless chin all the while. Eventually, she suggested, “Maybe you should try going out.”

“Easy for you to say, Ms. Twenty-Two-and-Popular. Dad won’t let me do _anything_ , remember?” Yang wanted to pat herself on the back. Ruby had made a silent “Oh” expression. Ruby had bought Yang’s excuse. “Besides, it’s not like I can get anywhere with one arm.”

“You’ve still got two legs.”

Yang was unimpressed. That was their father’s level of humor, and it was base. Vile. “Thanks. What a perfect solution to me wanting to handstand-walk all the way to Vale. I’ll just use my legs. You know, across the _water_.”

“You can walk onto a ferry.”

“And you can take a long walk off a short pier.”

The microwave dinged. Yang pulled the food out. It was very hot. She had half a mind to hand the dinner in its current state to Ruby, who couldn’t handle the heat like her older sister, but Yang thought better of that. She set the food down, grabbed a placemat, fork, moved them over to where Ruby sat, and placed the food on top. Ruby had to pull her fork out from under the food. That was Yang’s revenge.

“That sounds like a good idea,” Ruby said, unwrapping her food. “I could absolutely go for a swim right about—” She blew on her food before taking a bite. However, she teared up and took a moment before speaking again. Her voice sounded broken afterwards. “—now. Water sounds nice.”

“Fine,” Yang relented, accepting the implied request. She put her own food in the microwave, set it to cook, and fetched Ruby a glass of water, filling it in the sink. Soon after, though, Ruby needed a refill, and Yang obliged that implied request, too.

“Maybe,” Ruby tried again, fanning her tongue with her hand, “you should try swimming. The doctor said you could do that, didn’t she?”

“The nurse, but yeah.”

“So, that settles it! Go swim.”

“Thanks. You have the answers for everything—like how I’m supposed to tie my swimsuit or how I’m supposed to convince dad that I should be able to go to the beach when I can’t tie my swimsuit.”

“Then buy a one-piece.”

“Yeah, problem with that. How am I supposed to do that when I can’t leave the house?”

“Internet?”

“It’ll take a week to arrive.”

“Well, you could always take a bath and pretend it’s the beach!”

Yang was once again unimpressed. Nevertheless, she smirked. At least it wasn’t dad-jokes this time. It was just Ruby’s hopeless optimism. Yang had been about to say something sarcastic in reply, but the microwave dinged again. Letting Ruby off early for good behavior, Yang retrieved her food and set it next to her scroll before digging in with the nearest fork she could find. Ruby just grinned at her. Yang opened her mouth, revealing a sight which made Ruby shudder and then laugh. “Ahhhhh.”

“Yang, you’re gross.”

The blonde had been about to retort—yet again with something sarcastic—but, yet again, she was interrupted. This time, however, it was her scroll. It buzzed and, still open, its screen illuminated with the glow of a new text message. Yang’s breath caught in her throat, right alongside a piece of potato.

She choked, reaching for her scroll, and set off to her room, hacking all the way up the stairs, tears of anxiety and asphyxiation forming at the corners of her eyes.

“Yang!” Ruby called. “Are you all right? Do you need any water? Are you gonna finish your food?”

Rasping out an “I’m fine!” Yang firmly shut her door and leaned back against it, swallowing hard. The potato went down but the fear did not. It was time. Time to face the music—and the girl whose boobs Yang had groped under the impression that she had been dreaming. Moreover, it was time to talk to this girl who was simultaneously Yang’s savior and victim. The potato weighed heavy in her gut.

_Okay. We can call whenever you are ready._

That was the message the girl had sent. Yang breathed in then out.

Her thumb hovered over the dial-number button for a moment, hesitating at the sheer impossibility of the situation, but some kind of bravery or courage or stupidity allowed Yang to press down and begin the call. She hesitantly brought her scroll to her ear. There was a second of silence, and then it started ringing.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

This was death. Why wasn’t the girl picking up?

Just as the last ring played, the sound of the call connecting interrupted it. There was another second of silence, but Yang couldn’t marinate in her trepidation any longer. She was the first to say, “Hello?”

“…Hi. Um…Yang?”

Yang was replying before she even knew what she was saying. “Yup! That’s me. So, like, uh, I dunno what’s appropriate for this situation, but…I forgot to ask for your name. Sorry. And, uh, how are you? How’s your cat?”

There was a pause, and then the girl finally responded in a methodical, careful tone. “My name is Blake. I’m not having the greatest day, to be perfectly honest, but my cat is fine. Thanks for asking. How are you?”

Yang didn’t answer right away, either. She was a little stricken. That voice—the same voice that had sounded so monotone and boring when Yang had been speaking with it—was…completely different. It was dusky and mysterious and tired and _entirely_ enthralling. Yang forgot everything else she meant to say. “Oh… Wow.”

“…Excuse me?”

And then Yang felt the heat rise to her face, intense embarrassment making her scramble to come up with anything—literally _anything_ —more intelligent. “I mean! I’m glad your cat’s okay! It’s just—your voice— _God_.”

“Um, I don’t… Okay. What?”

Yang mentally kicked herself. She was usually _a lot_ smoother than this. The girl—Blake—must have been forming a very low first impression of her right now. Further, Yang kicked herself again. She was dating Sun. Enough of the goo-goo brains. There were a lot more important things to talk about. She quickly counted to three in her head and then tried again. “Sorry, I’m nervous. That wasn’t supposed to come out.” Yang tried to calm herself some by sitting down on her bed and focusing on what Blake had actually _said_. Blake wasn’t having a great day. That was probably quite normal, all things considered. Yang put an effort into sounding less shrill. “Um, I know I said this through text, but I really can’t express how thankful I am that you saved my life. It could have been a lot worse than a broken arm.”

“I was only reacting as a huntress would.” There was a pause, but Blake followed up with, more quietly, “I’m glad I saved more than just myself, though.”

“Yeah, me, too.” Yang hesitated, and neither girl said anything for another brief moment. This conversation truly was the epitome of awkward. Blake wasn’t giving Yang much to work with. “So…you don’t know anything about this, right?”

“No. I don’t. I’m just as bothered as you are.”

 _Could have fooled me_. She sounded the opposite of bothered—totally composed, if not somewhat lacking energy. It was pretty amazing, given the craziness of the circumstances. “Did you know what was happening the first time?” Yang asked, curious.

“No. I was in the middle of writing a syllabus when it happened. The next thing I knew, I was out in the forest and I had to escape a Petra Gigas. I woke up beside my bed after getting your body to safety and passing out. Truthfully, I assumed both instances were visions of some kind.”

And Yang had initially thought they were dreams or hallucinations and then that she was possessing another girl and finally concluding that they were actually swapping bodies. Also, Blake was a teacher? That explained…a lot. “I figured it out when I came back to myself last night and realized I was on the floor and not in my bed,” Yang provided, helpfully or not. “I had already been thinking that everything seemed so real, and maybe I was possessing some poor girl in Vale. But finding myself not in the place I should have been when I woke up made me rethink my assumption. Seriously, this is so weird. How is this happening?”

“I don’t know, Yang. This should be impossible. I just…” Blake fell silent, and then she started again, hesitantly, “I hope I didn’t make anything uncomfortable between you and your…husband?”

Yang blinked. “My husband?” She didn’t recall being married. “Tall? Blond? Unruly hair? Super cute and hunky?” Sun definitely wasn’t her husband. They had only just started dating a little over a month ago.

“I didn’t actually see him.”

Yang blinked again. “The guy you ran into when you escaped the Grimm?”

“I don’t…think so.” Blake’s placidity seemed to crack a little, uncertainness creeping into her otherwise cool tone. “He spoke to me from upstairs while I was…searching your living room.”

Yang immediately made the connection in her mind and, nerves still affecting her reactions, started laughing. “Oh, God! Ick! No, I’m not married! That was my dad. Ew.” She tried to stifle her giggles with her hand. “Don’t worry, though. Everything’s fine.”

“…Okay. Good. I’m relieved.”

Still trying to keep her laughing in check, Yang had to ask, “What were you doing in the living room?”

“Well…I guess I was looking for clues. Your mechanical engineering books lent very little insight, unfortunately.”

Yang’s grin didn’t fade. Was that…a joke? It was hard to tell. Blake still sounded pretty serious. But it _really_ seemed like a joke. Yang tested the waters with a chuckle and said, “What? You didn’t find the meaning of life in an engine diagram? I’m sad now.”

“Agreed.” That was definitely amusement. It was exhausted, quiet, and barely noticeable, but Blake was amused. And it sounded great in her voice. Yang was inexplicably happy about this. But then Blake added, once more collected, “Listen, Yang. On a more serious note, I didn’t get much sleep last night. I need time to process what’s going on and get some rest. But…I think we still need to talk about this some more.” There was a brief pause. “Are you…available on Saturday, at around noon?”

Without thinking, Yang promptly replied, “Yup! Absolutely. You wanna try meeting up?”

“…Yes. I’m going to do some research on our…predicament and share what I’ve found with you then. Have you ever been to Blueprint Café?”

“No, but that’s the coffee shop near the airship harbor, right?”

“Yes. Meet me there at noon on Saturday. We can talk more then.”

Yang nodded enthusiastically, even if she knew Blake couldn’t see her. “Sounds great! I’ll be there. Thank you, Blake—for, you know, talking with me and, like, saving my life and stuff.”

“It’s no problem. Thank you as well. Have a good day, Yang.”

“Bye! Take care!”

The call ended with a _click_.

Yang exhaled and slowly reclined on her bed until she was staring up at the ceiling. She let her scroll fall to her side.

So…Blake. Blake was a person. Well, no duh, but considering Yang had possessed this girl’s body twice and thought it was a dream for, like, one-point-two body-switches, it was pretty jarring to find that Blake was an actual, real-life person with a voice and an occasional sense of humor. This whole situation was still completely weird—and, in some ways, the call had made things weirder yet. But still…Blake. She was definitely a person. A good person who was a huntress and, apparently, also a teacher. Yang hoped to make that Petra Gigas thing up to her at some point.

But, for now, Yang had a different kind of giant problem to wrestle with: actually getting to their meeting on Saturday. All she had to do was convince her dad to let her meet Blake, lie to him about it being Blake, find a way to get all the way to the airship harbor, and have a conversation with the girl Yang had been inside of—rather, had body-switched with. This was going to be a tough one. Yang spent the rest of her day trying to devise some sort of fool-proof plan that would get her to that coffee shop. Eventually, though, Taiyang would return from Signal, Zwei running up to happily yap at him and alert Yang to his presence, and, quickly, the perfect plan would take shape.

Yang, withholding a mischievous smirk, left her bed and room and strolled her way downstairs, sing-songing, “Oh, daddy!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO, FUNNY STORY. YOU KNOW HOW THIS "PIECE OF SHI—MINE" IS ABOUT BODY SWITCHING AND WATCHING BLAKE AND YANG FREAK OUT ABOUT THAT? WELL, AN IMPORTANT PART OF THAT DYNAMIC IS HAVING ONE OF THEM REALIZE “ME-OH-MY THIS IS REAL LIFE!” A SCENE FOR THAT WAS IN MY OUTLINE FOR THIS STORY. I WAS EAGER TO WRITE IT. I HAD EVERYTHING READY FOR CHAPTER THREE. AND THEN I JUST…FORGOT. WHOOPS. SO, ANYWAY, I WROTE THAT SCENE, FIXED CHAPTER THREE, AND NOW THERE ISN’T A GAPING PLOT HOLE RUINING MY SPECIAL LITTLE NOVEL. 
> 
> I MUST NOW DISCUSS THE MATTER OF SACRIFICES MADE IN THE NAME OF MY NOVEL. DEVIANTART USER JayEmEl HAS, IN THE NAIVETE OF HER HEART, TOILED UPON A DRAWING OF PROFESSOR BLAKE BELLADONNA. IT IS BEAUTIFUL. I LOVE IT VERY MUCH. I CAN LITERALLY NOT STOP CRYING, AND IT IS A PROBLEM I SHOULD PROBABLY FIX. MAYBE THE PLUMBER CAN HELP OUT WITH THIS LEAK. MAYBE HE’LL LAY SOME PIPE WHILE HE’S HERE. UNF. I’M CHASTE. ANYWAY, GO CHECK OUT HER ARTWORK PLS AND TELL HER SHE IS LOVELY AND LIKE A NICE PEREGRINE FALCON. 
> 
> Also, PSA for all you youngbloods out there: Even though Yang x Sun is a present reality in this story, and even though I’m having fun with them—and they with each other—this is primarily a Bumblebee fic. Sorry for the disappointment for all y’all Solar Flare and Sunnybees shippers. Fortunately, as a consolation prize, I can offer all those injured or affected by this PSA a nice, tasty cat face.
> 
> >:3c
> 
> Me-yow. EVERYTHING IS BETTER NOW. SEE YOU LATER.


	5. Blueprints

Blake leaned on the wall beside one of the photocopy machines and stared at the blinking light. It indicated the machine would start producing the papers she had sent off to print from her laptop not too long ago. Good. Her patience was already wearing thin.

In all, it had taken Blake approximately a full work day of research to essentially find _nothing_. Three whole documents. Forty-two pages. And out of those forty-two pages, only about five paragraphs were even close to relevant. After teaching her three-hour Ethics class yesterday afternoon, Blake had gone home, settled in front of her laptop, and spent a few hours trying to find anything in Beacon’s extensive database that was remotely related to the concept of switching bodies. The results had been mostly unfruitful and unsatisfying. In fact, there was nothing on switching bodies, specifically. However, the sum information she gathered at least gave Blake a starting point with regards to what questions she could ask Yang.

Yang. She had sounded uncomfortably nervous—but kind and very genuine—on the call they’d had back on Thursday. Blake hadn’t been any more confident, honestly. Their worlds had collided, it wasn’t great, and now they were stuck with this impossible dilemma.

One author Blake found had written about control-based semblances—such as the power to exert one’s will over another’s, be it mental or physical, but these two were never mutually exclusive to a single individual. There were other semblances Blake had taken interest in while she was looking into the topic, like creating illusions or influencing dreams or even teleportation or transformation—which were all, again, never mutually exclusive to a single individual. While these subjects were compelling, they did not lend much—if any—insight into body-switching. In most of these cases, anyway, the circumstances would have involved the ruse of a third party—because Blake did not know Yang and had neither the will nor the ability to purposefully do this to the blonde, and Yang did not know Blake, who was not paranoid enough to suspect that Yang had the will do to this, either—but the Faunus highly doubted an exterior force would have any reason to do this to two random strangers as well. So, interesting as it all may be, the information was rather useless.

Searching for semblances had led Blake to reading about aura next, as the two were intrinsically linked. More than a few people were able to sense others’ auras—feeling their presence and knowing where they were spatially within a certain radius of themselves, and some people were even acutely gifted with this sort of sixth sense—but this was not on the same level of intrusiveness as the body-switching problem. In fact, the body-switching problem was more like…not only sensing another person’s aura, but traveling all the way to it and then kicking it out and taking its place. _That_ wasn’t alarming at all. Either way, nothing in Blake’s research had indicated that a person could switch auras with another, much less learn to do so. Moreover, Blake had never sensed Yang to begin with, so some sort of unintended learning was also out of the question.

Inevitably, reading about aura—which was still a great mystery to even the most versed scientists—had Blake looking into speculations, case studies, and even legends that may or may not have been true. She disliked trying to find answers in such anecdotal and mostly baseless information, especially with regards to her current predicament, because there were some writers pushing the possibility of soul-mates, that certain auras could be fatefully pulled towards each other. _That_ , Blake believed, was definitely not what was happening here. After all, she and Yang were _switching bodies_ —not falling hopelessly in love with each other. The situation was much more bothersome and disturbing than it was welcome and wonderful.

And it was making Blake feel very frustrated. She did not want this. Blake valued her privacy, valued what little control she had worked so hard to have over her personal life, and as nice and harmless as Yang seemed, Blake did not like the violation. Because that’s what this was. It was a violation of her life, of her body. It was unpredictable, and nobody seemed to know anything about it.

She had gone to bed in a bit of a bad mood last night, woken up early on a _Saturday_ , went through her usual morning routine, and then made her way to Beacon. With the few hours she had left before she needed to take the next airship to Vale, Blake had continued her research in the academy’s library. Beacon’s electronic database contained a wealth of information and most of the relevant books and journals could be found in there, but, clearly, it seemed Blake had to resort to more traditional means of looking things up when the rest failed her.

Unfortunately, she still did not find anything that specifically pertained to switching bodies. She did, however, brush up on her knowledge concerning consciousness and selfhood and figured this may help with teaching her Ethics class down the road. She then moved to a different part of the library and picked out an old tome on psychology, lost somewhere on one of the back shelves, in which she found curious facts and thoughts about various mental illnesses, such as dissociative identity disorder and schizophrenia.

Blake had immediately put the book back where she found it. This was ludicrous—except she wasn’t laughing.

Nevertheless, she knew none of this research had been a waste of time—if anything, it helped eliminate certain possibilities and had given Blake time to process the circumstances and organize her thoughts. She felt calmer. Annoyed, yes, but no longer so anxious. But also _slightly_ anxious—because, sadly, the more possibilities she ruled out, the clearer it became that she and Yang were _actually_ switching bodies, and it _still_ didn’t make an ounce of sense.

Blake’s mind came back to the present moment. The photocopy machine had just gone silent. It was done printing. She sighed and uncrossed her arms, stepping away from the wall and going over to grab the copied documents. Blake neatly put them into a folder, which went into her shoulder bag, and proceeded to check the time on her scroll.

There was an hour left before noon. She had to leave now if she didn’t want to be late—and she _didn’t_ want to be late. The sooner she and Yang could figure this out, the sooner they could make it stop. Blake felt nervous meeting her in person—this had nothing to do with teaching or networking, so she was out of her element, and for all intents and purposes, she had no answers to present, which meant the conversation was bound to be awkward. And she had to do this _now_.

Blake left the quiet safety of the library, stepping out into the day’s heat and on to the path that led her home—or, rather, the path that _would_ lead her home. While she did wish today’s meeting had never been made, and that instead of going all the way down to Vale she could stay in with Silver and grade homework, Blake was resolute. Confrontation had never been her strong suit, even when she was in the White Fang and confronted issues in a damaging, self-destructive way. But Blake knew all too well what happened when she ran from her problems—she had been down that road far too many times before. In every case, the things she ignored caught up and reminded her of just how bleak and furious the world was and how she could never truly be free from the monsters of her past.

If Blake didn’t face Yang, if she ran away one more time, she would be right back at square one. Except square one didn’t exist for her anymore. Menagerie wasn’t home, her parents weren’t around, and all the friends she had made likely saw her as a traitor. So, the only option was to deal with the situation and find a way to fix it. With this in mind, Blake pressed on, passing the trail that led down into the forest village and walking up to the front entrance of the academy.

It was a Saturday, and the few students who weren’t having fun in the city were either milling about somewhere indoors or out by the fountain or colonnades, basking in the sun and being rowdy, super-powered teenagers. It all reminded Blake of Haven, except it was warmer here and more students were willing to go to the nearby town. But, at the same time, Blake felt her experience as a teacher was much different from her experience as a student. Before, she was an outcast, yet no one paid her any mind, just like she wanted. Now, Blake could feel the air chill around her and the mood sink wherever she walked on campus. She was a new teacher, so the students probably didn’t know her well, but Blake had been where they presently sat. Teachers exuded detention, and students could see them from a mile away.

As she passed the entrance’s fountain, Blake saw students halt their conversations and hold them until she passed—which, judging by their glances at her ears, they knew to be a long time. Blake pulled her bag’s strap tighter against her chest. This wasn’t what she wanted here—to be both ignored and the center of reviling attention. She wanted to be a good teacher, and she wanted her students to like her—and, currently, this was proving the case in the classes she taught—but seeing these students she didn’t recognize shy away and want her to pass as quickly as possible was far from ideal.

Blake would not put her head down and draw more attention to herself, but she made her strides longer and her frown a scowl. She did not look at anything in particular—all she knew was that her airship was ahead of her and, adding a couple dozen minutes, Yang was beyond that. It was a means for her to stay confident, to push aside all these anxieties keeping her from the confrontation ahead. But this was all a mistake. Through her troubled, anxious daze, Blake failed to see a man walking out of the airship just as she was entering, causing them to collide and both to stumble back a few feet.

Before Blake could shake off her stupor and the self-critical thoughts that followed, she heard the man laugh. “Oh, hey, Blake!” She looked up and saw Dane Sycamore, putting his lean arm through the second strap of his backpack. “Funny running into you here. Sorry about that bump! Are you heading down to Vale?”

 _Obviously_ , Blake thought. But she had to shake this off quickly. She was forming a habit of thinking ill of Dane, even going so far as to compare him to Adam by way of her nightmare, which was completely unfair and inaccurate. Instead, she pulled the sleeve of her loose shirt down, as it had caught under her bag’s strap in the impact. “Uh… Hi,” she said. “Um, yes, I—Yes, I’m going to Vale.”

Dane beamed. “Sounds like a lot of fun! I just came back from my sister’s baby shower. Got to see my nephew for the first time in a couple years. It’s gonna be her second, and my nephew, her first, wants to be just like his uncle, so I got him a BB gun and watched him chase the neighborhood kids around the backyard.” He sighed wistfully, shaking his head and smiling. “Oh, kids. I’d like to have a couple someday.” His brown eyes found Blake’s, and he seemed to smile even brighter. “What about you?”

For a moment, Blake was unimpressed. Her low panic had turned to mild frustration, and all she could do at that moment was blink at the professor. He was being way too forward.

But, fortunately, it seemed Dane had meant something else by his question. “Where are _you_ heading out to?”

Blake had misinterpreted his question—judged it in the middle of its asking, really—and she felt almost apologetic for that. She wasn’t entirely sorry, though, as Dane did have a short history of showing interest in Blake, and she knew enough scumbags to know how deceivers talked. It was always the honest question followed by a mollifying second.

Nevertheless, Dane wasn’t those people—or, at least, Blake had no reason to think so. He was neither Adam nor a creep. Though he may have been insistent at times, Blake didn’t feel the need to fault him for that. If anyone was at fault, it would be Blake and her apparent inability to shut advances down. She looked away, deciding she owed him a courteous answer—one that, for safety’s sake, had to be a lie, unfortunately. “I’m going to meet a friend.”

“Oh.” Dane’s expression faltered for a moment, but he kept his smile up. “A friend?” It didn’t shine like it used to. “Well, that’s good! At least you’re getting out there and socializing. Good for you! So, what are you two planning on doing today?”

Politeness and courtesy were Blake’s goal, but her eyes continued to wander towards the slowly filling airship. “We’re probably going to talk about things and have lunch.”

“I see.”

There was a painful moment where neither professor moved. Blake tried looking for opportunities to shuffle around Dane, but he was standing so directly in front of her and creating two perfectly even spaces where students could—and frequently did—pass through on either side. For the moment, Blake was stuck. She didn’t try meeting his eyes, and, honestly, he didn’t try meeting hers, either. It became a waiting game where the winner was chosen when someone achieved a goal neither had set for themselves or each other. This is to say, there were no winners here.

“Well,” Dane said, putting on another fake smile and making his posture perk up accordingly, “I ought to let you go. I hope your day goes well! And if you need me for anything, you know where I live. Just, uh, don’t be afraid to knock, all right?”

“Sure,” said Blake instinctively, taking the first opportunity she had to skirt around Dane when he moved slightly to her left. As she did so, Blake turned and gave him a small wave with the hand that didn’t clutch her bag and secret research. “I hope you have a good day, too. We’ll talk again soon.”

The last Blake saw of Dane that day, he was waving at her as she entered and moved further into the airship. To some others, this might have been sweet: a nice, confident, family-oriented hunter and professor putting effort into making a woman feel welcome. Blake didn’t want to be ungrateful, but, at the same time, this was not what she wanted right now. She didn’t want to date someone she worked with. She didn’t want to live so close to him. She didn’t want him to know every detail of her life. And, more than any of this, she didn’t want to let him down. Dane probably _was_ a nice guy. But he wasn’t what Blake was looking for, and she had bigger problems to deal with, anyway.

As she found a seat in a lonely corner of the airship—facing _away_ from the school—Blake could still hear the way his tone changed when she mentioned meeting a friend. She could still see his posture droop when she may or may not have made today’s meeting seem like a date. His feelings for her might not have been strong, but they were there, and Blake felt like she was hurting him somehow. But she did not want to think about this, as it was not her problem that he had built up false hopes—she could set or not set clear boundaries all she wanted, but, at the end of the day, his emotions were his to deal with, not hers. She instead held her bag and research to her chest and hoped Yang and the complete weirdness of their situation together would put things into perspective like they had done before.

The airship would take off, Blake would not look back, and her mind would stay resolute on the conflict before her. She would meet Yang—the woman she was switching bodies with—and she would not run from this problem, too. Truly, here went absolutely nothing.

* * *

Punctuality had never been Yang’s forte. For as long as she could remember, she had always arrived to events or missions or appointments or obligations with only seconds to spare. She wasn’t as bad as her former teammate, Auburn, who had a tendency of fixing her hair right up until the last minute…of an hour after an event’s start. Yang, at the very least, always arrived, and that was reason enough not to care about being tardy. However, today was different. Today, Yang made sure she was the most punctual she had ever been—one whole _hour_ early.

Blueprint Café was a pretentious little coffee shop just down the road from the harbor. In fact, Yang could see the airships now from where she sat on the café’s patio. Just across the bay, and above the harbor terminal’s mirrory structure, the ships were drifting and circling and gleaming in the rays of the summer sun. Unfortunately, the distraction provided by the harbor was limited by the ever-shifting wall of humanity that blocked Yang’s view of the nearby waterfront. Hurried shoppers with full bags and ravenous appetites were scurrying this way and that through the open-air mall, of which Blueprint was a part, bumping past each other in search of the things they craved or stopping in the middle of the foot traffic to take pictures with one another. But even with the distraction, Yang’s leg jittered beneath the table. Her ears tried to hold on to the sea’s calming waves while she gazed through her sunglasses at the promenade before her, towards the pick-up and drop-off point at the end where a stream of busses dealt with the steady flow of customers.

Today was the day. Noon was coming any minute now. But Yang saw no sign of Blake.

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

Yang, a little startled but refusing to show any signs, tilted her head back and found her waiter standing right behind her. Not creepy at all. He was a young-ish, tawny-haired guy who thought he was pretty suave, which was par for the course with Yang, honestly. Not that Yang minded the attention, but Yang was taken, and she kind of got tired when otherwise normal guys didn’t get the implicit message of “Please stop, please.”

“Would you like me to bring you some more water?”

Yang had sipped _maybe_ a quarter of her second cup. She didn’t really need a third refill yet, but this guy seemed to be on his toes, trying to make sure Yang wanted for nothing. In a way, she appreciated it. But in another way, today was just not the day for this. “Sure,” she said, deciding to let him stay occupied. “And could you keep the crackers coming? I think it’s still gonna be a while until my friend arrives.”

He leaned around her and took the cup. “Sure. I’ll be right back with that.”

It was at this point, as the server began walking back into the café with Yang’s only source of hydration, that the blonde realized she had left herself with a plate half-full of saltines and no means to quench her ever-growing thirst. On top of this, Blake—the girl she was somehow _switching bodies with_ —which still seemed completely impossible—was going to arrive soon. Hopefully. Or, really, not hopefully. Yang was nervous, to say the least. Her leg kept shaking and she couldn’t help herself from biting into another cracker. This was a mistake—everything about this situation—and Yang’s mouth felt drier by the minute.

A new bus pulled up at the mall’s faraway pick-up and drop-off curb. Yang narrowed her eyes and looked for a black-haired, honey-eyed, black-and-white-wearing cat Faunus in the crowd that poured out. Truthfully, she was eager to see Blake. It would be completely weird but also…thrilling. Yang had _been_ Blake, and seeing someone else control that body would be like some eldritch abomination being wrenched from the grotesque depths of the uncanny valley only to meet and greet Yang on a breezy, sunny summer day. Which was cool. But, at the same time, Yang totally didn’t want to see Blake right now because she wasn’t prepared to deal with something this abnormal. It had been two days since they called, and Yang still hadn’t collected her thoughts on, well, _everything_.

The bus closed its doors and drove away. In the stream of people that had exited, Yang could not see Blake. She ate another saltine. Dry but wonderfully salty.

Yang honestly had no idea what would happen when Blake arrived. It would definitely be awkward, as evidenced by their call, but Yang imagined there being a lot of wheel-spinning, too. Yang was too anxious— _Yang_ anxious! It was ridiculous!—about being thrown into this supernatural and wholly invasive predicament while trying to make a good impression on this girl who was forced to deal with her. Yang wanted to know all the whys and hows and whos and wheres and what-can-be-dones, but those questions seemed so low on her list of priorities right now, sitting here at this table as she was. She just wanted to make things less awkward as soon as possible.

Fortunately—and Yang was surprised she was thinking this—the server returned. He did not stand behind Yang like he did before, instead setting down her refilled water and a new plate of packaged crackers, which Yang immediately went to work unwrapping.

“Can I get you anything else?”

Yang shrugged, only glancing at him out of courtesy. “Not really. Can’t think of anything.”

He nodded with a slight smile. “Well, if something crosses your mind, let me know.”

Once again, she watched him walk back inside. He seemed nice enough. He’d definitely have a shot with _someone_ , but his aim was a bit off. Yang sighed. Every little stressor was being amplified by the upcoming meeting. Yang had half a mind to leave, half a mind to stay, and not a single complete thought about the situation that could possibly soothe her.

She turned her eyes back to the faraway curb, watching another bus leave. Behind it was someone’s black SUV, and Yang almost paid it no mind, but when it pulled to a stop and the back passenger door opened, Yang shivered.

A girl was exiting the car, and although Yang had her suspicions about who it probably was, the girl’s back was facing her, so Yang couldn’t be sure. She saw long black hair, a flowing long-sleeved shirt, and the girl was currently leaning into the SUV in what appeared to be a heated argument with the driver. Yang witnessed her snatch a bag out of the back seat, shut the door, and stand there in apparent frustration as the SUV zoomed away. For a moment, the girl simply watched the car drive off, combing a tired hand through her hair. Soon after, though, Yang’s doubt about who this was became a certainty. Head turning first and the rest of her body following after, Blake was smooth—despite her obvious unease, she looked cool, collected, and focused. Like a freaking fashion model or something.

Yang realized her jaw had dropped a little. She was torn between being awed by Blake’s approach—the raven locks fluttering in the wind, combined with a strong and elegant, almost prowling gait, made it seem like something out of a movie—and feeling nervous because she was soon going to face her in a few moments, this girl who already seemed peeved and concerned. But as Blake neared and her traits became distinct, all Yang could do was stare, stress briefly forgotten. It was like seeing her for the first time—bright golden eyes, form-fitting dark-wash jeans that accentuated the sway of her hips, and punk rock boots that seemed soundless in the mass of people. And those _ears_. Blake was all feline grace and silent intensity, and Yang swallowed hard. So, that was how her body was made to move. Wow.

The Faunus, with cat ears flicking atop her head as if in constant search of something, hugged her leather shoulder bag against her and began slowing down, walking close to the fence that separated Blueprint’s patio from the promenade. Her eyes scanned the patrons, checking each table for what Yang assumed to be Yang, and as those golden orbs drew nearer to where _the_ _Yang_ sat, Yang could not contain her small, scared, and excited smile. Their eyes met. Yang felt a rush of giddiness, the origin of which she was unsure of, as Blake’s gaze lingered on her.

But then Blake’s gaze passed over. Her hunt continued while Yang was left with her disappointment at not being recognized for once in her life. This was kind of an achievement, sorta, if not completely soul-crushing.

The blonde thought about eating another consolation cracker, but she quickly figured that sitting around and moping wasn’t exactly her style. _Woman of action_. Yang stood from her seat, causing it to skitter back just a little, and turned to face Blake. She had meant to say something like “Hey, Blake! Over here!” but, apparently, the sudden movement and noise was enough to catch Blake’s attention.

Their eyes met again. Yang propped her sunglasses up on top of her head, and she could see those two pools of shimmering gold without an interfering shade between them, and she saw them staring almost disbelievingly right back at her. She smiled.

Blake paused. She blinked. “…Yang?”

“Blake!” It was at this point that Yang actually waved. It was really energetic. “Hey! I got us a table over here. Come sit down!”

Blake glanced at said table, and then nodded. As Yang sat back down, Blake walked out of sight. The next few seconds were incredibly nerve-racking as the blonde waited for the Faunus to come around and join her, fingers meanwhile drumming on her lap. Her leg continued to jitter. Finally, though, Blake arrived and eased herself down in the seat in front of Yang. Yang could not help but stare.

“I’m not usually late. I’m sorry.” Blake removed her shoulder bag and leaned over to set it down between her feet. “My driver got lost.”

Upon hearing that smoky, captivating voice again, Yang found herself focusing on Blake’s mouth and how it formed the words. The line separating her upper lip from the bottom was reminiscent of a cat’s, somewhat drooping and then upturning slightly at the corners, and they were composed of rich ridges, beautifully heart-shaped. Yang was even more enthralled. “It’s no problem,” the blonde said, maybe a touch breathily. At the very least, the excuse—or what Yang had caught of it—explained the argument and frustration.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long?” Blake arched an eyebrow, her gaze lingering on Yang’s, searching.

The nerves came rushing back, and Yang stopped staring at Blake’s mouth. “Nope!” she lied with an awkward chuckle. “Just five minutes or so.”

Golden eyes looked down at the saltine wrappers piled on Yang’s plate. Before either of them could comment, and as Yang became embarrassed, the server from before seemed to magically appear beside their table. He cleared his throat and leaned a little closer to Yang, saying a bit uncomfortably, “Ma’am, I’m afraid that if you don’t order anything else other than water or crackers soon, we will have to ask you to leave. You’ve been here for the better part of an hour.”

Yang blinked and then shrunk into herself, embarrassment turning to mortification. “Give us five more minutes. We’ll order.”

He beamed, nodded, and then gave Blake a bit of a weird look before walking away.

Lilac met inquisitive golden—honey…amber? All three? Yang smiled sheepishly and tried in a small voice, “I’m not usually early. Especially not by an entire hour. Promise.”

Blake’s lips seemed to twitch. “I suppose there’s a certain irony here. We’re also matching clothes, almost.”

Yang immediately looked down at herself. Because of her cast, she had been forced to wear an open-back halter-top that tied behind her neck—something that Ruby had reluctantly helped with—and she was wearing jeans, too, but Yang’s were very short and a lot bluer. She once again took in Blake’s attire. They were essentially wearing the same colors and material, but Blake was…much more conservative. Yang laughed a little. “Who do you think wears it better?”

Blake’s collected façade seemed to crack a bit. She hesitated, her gaze suddenly glancing somewhere that was definitely not Yang’s eyes before quickly jumping back up, and then she regained her composure. “Maybe you should look at your menu.”

Yang was mildly stunned. Had Blake just…checked her out? The brawler shook herself, once more reminding her stubborn brain that she had a boyfriend—who she happened to like very incredibly much and who had upheld their partners-in-crime relationship today by helping Yang escape the confines of her home. Plus, Sun would pick her up after this meeting. And, like, maybe before Yang went back to prison, they’d go to his place for a bit. And do _stuff_.

So, yeah. Yang had to keep her brain in her head and out of her pants. Plus, Blake very well could have not been checking Yang out at all—her glance had been pretty subtle and too fast to ascribe any certain meaning to. With a small shrug, Yang picked up the menu she had not even touched since arriving an hour ago and quickly started scanning the dishes Blueprint Café served. She regarded Blake. “You can order something, too. I got this.”

Blake slowly shook her head. “I can pay for both of us. Don’t worry about it.”

Yang narrowed her eyes. Nuh-uh. She had a whole lot of repaying to do to this girl, and it would start right now. “You saved my life. Let me pay.” It was a low blow, honestly, but Yang wasn’t letting Blake spend money on her.

To this, Blake merely raised her eyebrows—both of them this time—and then sighed. “When you put it like that…”

“Are you not gonna look at the menu?”

“I already know what I’m having.”

“Oh. Okay.” There was a pause, one in which Yang’s eyebrows creased more and more. She mustered up her courage. “Do you come here often?”

Yang winced. That definitely could have been a pick-up line, except she did not mean it like that at all.

However, Blake didn’t seem to think anything of it. In fact, her gaze seemed to be drawn towards the water further off to their side. “Yes. The view is nice.”

Yang inhaled a little sharply. That wasn’t a pick-up line, either, _for sure_. Blake hardly seemed like the type. Instead, Yang looked over at the water, too, but found her view yet again obstructed by passersby and shoppers and tourists. She heard Blake sigh once more, and Yang met her stare. “What’s up?”

 Blake met her stare, too. “Early Sunday mornings are less crowded. It’s better to relax then.”

“You could have scheduled our meeting for tomorrow.”

“We’re not here to relax.”

Yang became quiet. Blake wasn’t biting or impatient, but it was clear she wasn’t here to make friends, either. At least, probably not. She looked vaguely uneasy, cat ears leaned backwards like that. And Yang had learned enough from this girl’s pet cat that backwards ears meant bad mood—or just…not-good mood.

“Want a cracker?” Yang wondered, offering one with a hopeful smile. The situation was awkward and strange, certainly, and she understood why Blake would be reticent about being buddies, but Yang wouldn’t be discouraged so soon. They were pretty much forced to interact with each other thanks to destiny—or whatever—and Yang figured it would probably be easier if they could at least get along and be on the same page.

Blake stared suspiciously at the saltine Yang was offering, but then she took it, cat ears leaning up some. “Thanks.”

Yang beamed.

The server returned just then, a notepad and pen in his hands. He smiled pleasantly at both girls. “Have you decided?” he asked, specifically looking at Yang.

Yang’s eyes widened and she looked at the menu again, scrambling to find something that looked remotely good. She’d been so focused on Blake that she hadn’t even picked her meal yet, despite having told the waiter that she would.

Unexpectedly, Blake came to Yang’s rescue—again—with, “Um, I’m going to have a glass of water—and jasmine tea.” She seemed to swallow with difficulty, trying to not talk with crushed cracker in her mouth.

The server turned to Blake, leaving Yang off the hook for now. Yang gave Blake a thankful look and continued searching her menu while the Faunus finished her order.

“Glass of water and jasmine tea. Anything else?” he scribbled on his notepad quickly.

“A bowl of your cream of mushroom soup and a garden salad.”

 “Coming right up.” The server pivoted to come back to Yang. “And for you?”

Yang looked up, putting the menu down and slamming her hand on it. She had finally found what she wanted. “I got it! I’mma have a club sandwich. Toasted, please.”

He grinned at her. “I see you’ve adapted.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

His grin faltered. “Nothing, ma’am. I’m just glad I didn’t have to ask you to leave. I’ll bring your orders as soon as they’re ready.” He glanced at Blake again, still giving her a weird look—which she returned this time, funnily enough—took their menus and also Yang’s plate full of empty cracker wrappers, and walked back into the café.

Yang slumped her shoulders, being careful not to move her casted arm too much. All things considered, she found that she was happy to be here with Blake, somehow. “You’re my hero. Literally.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Sure you did.” Yang smiled again and then, feeling a little self-conscious and not knowing what else to say, took her sunglasses off her head and began fiddling with them a little, trying to close the temples with her single hand.

There was another pause, but it felt less uncomfortable this time. Blake didn’t seem like the kind of person who talked a lot, and Yang suspected that she probably appreciated moments of silence sometimes. Maybe the pauses didn’t have to be avoided at all costs. Maybe they could be relaxing, even with all the noise around. Eventually, though, Blake did say, “I did some research on what’s going on with us.”

Intrigued, Yang immediately perked up. She managed to close her sunglasses’ temples and wondered, “What did you find? Anything conclusive?” She hung the sunglasses on the loose V-line of her halter-top and found Blake’s traveling gaze.

…Which was currently not looking at Yang’s face. Again. Blake promptly looked back up, this time realizing she’d been caught and—lo and behold—broke character entirely, her face tinging pink, cat ears going from straight to flat on her head, and taking a sudden and mighty interest in the tablecloth. She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry. That was indiscreet of me.”

Honestly, Yang was a lot less bothered than she probably should have been. So far, Blake seemed like the goal-driven, aversive sort, and Yang didn’t know her well enough to prove otherwise, so Blake might not have been staring for the reason Yang assumed. Either way, she knew what getting caught felt like, and it wasn’t like Yang was completely innocent in this—she had been ogling Blake before Blake even knew Yang was there, after all. Blake’s reaction was cute, anyway—reassuring, even, because it made her more relatable—and it was tempting to make a joke, but Yang decided against teasing. Maybe she would if they became more familiar, but the situation was already tense, and she didn’t want to add potentially hurt feelings into the mix. “Hey, don’t fret it. What did you find in your research?”

It was Blake’s turn to give Yang an appreciative look. Still appearing mildly uncomfortable, she reached down and unzipped one of the compartments of her bag, retrieving a folder filled with papers, which she handed across the table to Yang. The blonde took the folder, put it on the table in front of her, opened it, eyes then widening a little as they scanned the first sheet. She started flipping through the pages one by one, not actually reading anything yet and finding certain paragraphs had been underlined, a few arrows drawn here and there with short notes connected to them.

“You found all of this? How many pages did you print?”

“That’s…nothing.” Blake sounded slightly confused. “Forty-five pages of mostly nothing. I highlighted the paragraphs that might be relevant, but I couldn’t find anything directly related to switching bodies. There was only information on events that were _almost_ similar to what we might be dealing with.”

Yang slowed her skimming. When Blake had said she would do research on their situation, Yang had imagined the Faunus would search the internet and print a few pages from super helpful links she had quickly uncovered. It seemed Yang had grossly underestimated her. “Where were you looking? How long did this take you?” She laid a surprised regard on the other girl.

Blake still looked a bit puzzled. “I got the information from Beacon Academy’s database. I work there. It took me several hours of research. Why is that important?”

Yang blinked, and then she grinned. “You work at Beacon? Eyy! That’s where I got my hunting license. Do you know Professor Goodwitch?”

Blake narrowed her eyes. “I’ve met her. I just started teaching last week. But I don’t see how that’s related to our problem right now.”

Bummer. Blake didn’t want to small-talk. Still, it was interesting to know that the girl sitting across from Yang was a new professor—at _Beacon Academy_ , no less. Yang’s grin faded, but she kept a smirk up and nodded. “Right. It’s not. Sorry, I get distracted kinda easily. It’s just…yeah, I was _that_ kind of student. Got in trouble a lot.” She kept looking through the documents Blake had provided, a few words and sentences catching her attention here and there, and Yang continued, a bit absent-mindedly, “There’s one thing we have in common—Beacon. Not sure it’s enough to explain anything, though.”

“Maybe. At this point, I wouldn’t want to disregard coincidences. You’ve never seen or heard of me before, have you? Anywhere you might know me from?”

Yang looked up at Blake, tilting her head a little as she tried to remember if she might have seen this raven-haired girl before. It seemed to Yang that she would definitely recall such a…well, person. “What’s your full name? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Blake Belladonna. Yours?”

On impulse, Yang extended her hand with another grin, “Yang Xiao Long! Nice to finally meet you.”

Blake stared at Yang’s hand for, admittedly, an awkwardly long while before she extended her own hand and met the embrace. The Faunus’ grip felt strong and practiced, but her hand was surprisingly soft and smooth. Yang found herself letting go reluctantly, and maybe a bit too soon, and rubbed the side of her neck. “You have, like, really nice hands,” she admitted.

There was a moment where things happened and people did stuff, and, in that time, Yang knew not what she had said. And then she did. And then her eyes widened. Um.

“Sorry about that!” Yang said, backpedaling in as much of a hurry as humanly possible. “You, uh, really know how to give a good handshake, don’t you?” What did that even _mean_? Blake must have been so confused. Or extremely weirded out. Or maybe both!

Blake, though, shook her head. Her lips twitched again, and Yang realized that Blake had a tendency of fighting off smiles. “It’s…okay. Don’t worry about it. At least something could be learned from that.”

“That I’m a major creep?”

“That you’re real.”

Having said this, Blake then turned and looked off to Yang’s side. Their waiter approached, carrying a platter. Blake and Yang smiled courteously, if not a little interruptedly, at him as he placed the small tea plate and cup in front of Blake and then her glass of water. He informed them that their food would be out shortly and, after a moment of prolonged eye contact with Yang, he went back into the café. And with that, the awkwardness was gone.

Of course, it was replaced by another kind of awkwardness, but at least Yang didn’t have to worry about hands anymore. She smirked a little, trying to pick up their previous conversation. “That I’m…real? Did you think this was a dream or something?”

“Not precisely,” Blake said. She shifted her posture a little so she was sitting up straighter. She picked up her tea and brought her lips to the cup’s edge, testing it and quickly wincing. With a calming breath, she set the cup back down for the time being and regarded Yang. “I definitely wanted to make sure because I still had my doubts, but…” She sighed. “For all I know, you could still be a figment of my imagination.”

Yang furrowed her brows. “Did you, like, not just see me talking to that waiter who also talked to you?”

“I did, but… If my mind could possibly conjure you, it could just as easily conjure another person who could interact with you.”

There was a pause, wherein Yang considered Blake’s words with great intellectual awe and confusion while Blake’s gaze moved back to the safety of the waves lapping against the nearby gravelly shore.

“I mean,” the Faunus said distantly, “I know you’re real now. The…handshake helped prove that much. But it was still something I needed to be wary of, as this predicament we’ve found ourselves in is far from normal.”

So, Blake was being cautious. And Yang… Well, it wasn’t that Yang _wasn’t_ being cautious, per se. She just…wasn’t being cautious. Comparatively. Yang had come to the conclusion that this whole body-switching thing was real because everything felt real when they switched and because there were physical ramifications to their switching—exhibit A being this cast and sling that rested across Yang’s chest and coordinated quite wonderfully with her outfit. But Blake had been more skeptical. Like, conspiracy-theory skeptical. But, at the same time, not conspiracy-theory skeptical. She had basically brought a research paper and a half to this first meeting and was still unsure of Yang’s existence—which was definitely weird, but Yang had to admire the dedication this took.

In fact, Blake looked a little wary as she met Yang’s gaze again. “If you don’t mind me asking,” she said, voice guarded, “I was wondering what your semblance is?”

For whatever reason, Blake didn’t just doubt Yang’s existence—which Blake definitely did, even though she said she didn’t—she also felt threatened or something by some potential Yang might have had. This was unfortunate, and, feeling this way, Yang made sure to relax her posture back into her seat, smile softly, and seem as reassuring as possible. “I take damage, I absorb it, then I throw the energy right back at whatever attacked me. I’m like a big, yellow sponge. But with, like, boxing gloves.”

Blake’s expression visibly darkened upon hearing this explanation. She did not seem offended or put off or anything, but there was a definite pointed look she gave Yang. It was like instead of reassuring her, Yang had actually made the situation worse. Somehow.

This sent Yang into a mini, well-concealed panic, which she believed could be fixed by even more information and reassurances. She continued, “Also, I’m really warm. And whenever I get punched or hit a lot, my hair lights on fire. It’s not as big of a problem as it sounds. I still smell all right when it happens—not like burning hair.”

“You…absorb damage.”

“Yup!”

“And you release that held energy on your foes?”

“Well, kinda. The energy just fuels me. It can make my punches hurt more, sure, but it also makes me faster, sturdier, or generally stronger. I used to be a lot more power-focused with my aura and semblance, but that ended up screwing me over too often. So, I’ve been focused on maintaining my shield and using extra energy to hit harder only when necessary. These days, I’m going for longevity, not quick finishes.”

Blake looked down at the table, released a small sigh, and looked back to Yang. She seemed less on edge than she did before—still distrustful, but this was progress! “Okay,” the Faunus said. “So, you absorb energy, but you don’t just lash out with it.”

“I can,” Yang offered, “but it drains my aura a lot quicker and usually ends with me being super tired and needing to retreat. I use it as a boost now, not a crutch.”

Blake nodded. “Okay. I can accept that.”

Whatever _that_ meant. Yang hadn’t known she was trying to give Blake an acceptable explanation. Okay. “So, what’s your semblance?” Yang asked, hoping to ease Blake’s unease and the weird, suspicious tension that had formed in the air between them.

Blake shook her head again, sighed again, and looked to Yang again—Yang who kept smiling because she understood this situation was still new and unsettling in some ways. “I…” Blake began, unsure of where she should go, “I create shadows. I mean, I shape them. I can make them appear, make them tangible, and shape them into whatever form I need. Usually, this comes as shadow clones of myself.”

“Oh!” Yang grinned. “So, you’re like a ninja?”

There was a long silence led by the Faunus, who currently held a very flat expression that Yang found particularly discomforting, and this discomfort led to an echoing feeling of awkwardness, which led to a want to strike any remotely offensive thing she might have just said from existence. But at the end of this pause, Blake simply quirked an eyebrow. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I don’t think I understand what you mean.”

This did absolutely nothing to quiet Yang’s anxieties. Goodness, the things this girl did to her heart. “It’s just that…you know… Shadow clones and living in the forest and using the darkness to your advantage and being completely edgy…” Yang’s voice trailed off as she saw that Blake still wasn’t reacting. Yang was just burying herself deeper, it seemed. She scrambled for a change of subject.

Fortunately, she didn’t have to scramble for long. The waiter appeared again like some sort of saving grace, no longer creepy like Yang had assumed he was, carefully putting Blake’s cream of mushroom soup in front of her and setting the garden salad next to it. Blake thanked him and then regarded Yang as the plate with the club sandwich was put on the table, too.

“Thanks,” Yang mumbled, deciding that eye-contact with anyone was totally overrated right now. She really had to get a grip.

“My pleasure. If you need anything else, just holler for me. My name’s Mike, by the way.”

“Cool. Thanks again, Mike.” Yang finally glanced at him, only to see that he was grinning at her before he turned and left with a satisfied nod.

Yang was left alone with Blake again. Lilac eyes watched in silence as the raven-haired girl methodically placed a napkin on her lap and sprinkled a bit of pepper over both her soup and her salad. Yang stared down at her own meal, then at her white shirt, then at her casted arm, and let out a small sigh. She could definitely try cutting her sandwich with her fork, but for all intents and purposes, she would probably have to use her hand to eat. Yang really hadn’t thought any of this through. It was so frustrating. She was spending her time giving Blake a bad impression, both back on the call and now here in person.

“Do you know if your semblance follows you into my body when we switch?” Blake eventually asked. She had been stirring her soup a little, and now she took a cautious sip from her spoon. It was steaming.

Yang snapped out of her daze and hesitated. “Uh… I think so. I mean, it was still keeping me warm and I didn’t feel any different from myself. I mean, other than…the other stuff.”

“The other stuff?”

The blonde tried cutting into her club sandwich with her fork. It didn’t promise effective results. The sandwich kind of just squished in on itself and one of the tomatoes started sliding out. Blargh. “Yeah, like… I felt like me still, but I had your night vision and heightened senses...” Yang paused. Blake waited, as if knowing there was more. There was, although Yang didn’t want to say it. But she finally relented after a moment, guiltily, “And you really like tuna, which I don’t. So, that was weird and completely not me. But otherwise, it just kind of felt like I was me but in someone else’s house…and skin.”

Once more, Blake seemed puzzled. She sipped at her soup again, giving Yang’s words some thought, but then she asked, “How do you know I really like tuna? Those cans in my fridge could have been for Silver… Um, my cat.”

Ah. So the beast was called Silver. That was far from evil. In fact, wasn’t silver rumored to be an evil-repellent? This last thought caused Yang to wonder if that was why Silver had initially wanted to attack her… Or maybe Yang was actually a werewolf. That would be cool, and anything seemed possible at this point. _Anyway_. She cleared her throat. “I don’t know,” she said, keeping the amusement from her voice. “Your body craved it. So I ate a can, and it helped me—well, you—calm down. Were you having some sort of nightmare or something?”

Blake looked troubled. However, she did not express what was on her mind nor did she answer the question. Yang gave a slight shrug and decided to let her process the information, going back to unsuccessfully trying to cut her sandwich. Not only was she probably coming across as dumb and painfully awkward to this girl, but Yang was even struggling to eat normally while trying not to crush her plate with too much strength—or, at the very least, she was trying and failing to eat with some form of table manners.

“Yang? Do you…need help with that?”

Yang’s eyes widened in surprise. She looked up and met Blake’s—even more surprising—concerned gaze. But Yang couldn’t accept the help. This was embarrassing enough as it was. She had taken care of herself pretty much all her life just fine—she could figure this one out, too. Maybe she would just eat with her hand. That’s what sandwiches were meant for anyway, right? “No, it’s okay. I can just…” The intensity in Blake’s eyes made Yang go silent. Lilac looked down. “Um… Yes, please.”

It was strangely difficult to push her plate over to Blake—not because the plate was too heavy, but because Yang was simply mortified. She hated this cast so much. She wanted _out_ of it and to be autonomous again! She wanted to be smooth and confident like she usually was and not this puddle of foolishness that made everything even weirder than it had to be. She felt like Ruby, honestly, and that was the worst.

But Blake did not seem annoyed, and although she occasionally glanced at Yang as she took her fork and knife to cut the club sandwich into smaller, much more manageable pieces, her expression wasn’t judgmental or impatient in the slightest. “I’m sorry about your arm,” she said, and she sounded sincere. “I know how painful that fight was for you.”

It was the kind of comment that would have normally made Yang want to argue or deny its veracity, but considering the circumstances, it was actually a really nice thing for Blake to say—because Blake _did_ know how painful it had been. She had been there. “Thanks, Blake. This is pretty embarrassing…”

Blake slowly shook her head. “Don’t be embarrassed.” She cut the last few pieces and handed the plate back to Yang. “Make sure you rest. You’ll have the use of your arm soon enough.”

Yang stared down at the pieces, feeling strangely cared about. She took her fork, but before eating, she said again in a bit of a small voice, “Thank you.”

Blake’s cat ears leaned back briefly, eyes cast downwards, but that was her only reaction to Yang’s gratitude. She sipped at her soup while Yang used her fork to take a bite of her own food. There was a short silence, but the pauses were beginning to feel natural already. “It was kind of the same thing for me,” Blake said after swallowing.

Yang raised her eyebrows, questioning, trying to remember what they had been talking about before the whole…kindness thing.

Blake was fast to clarify. “I mean, I felt like myself, but I no longer had my night vision or my regular senses. It was a little…disorienting and nerve-racking, if I’m being honest.” Blake looked uncomfortable, and she added more quietly, “I don’t mean that in any sort of derogatory way. It’s just…”

“It’s okay,” Yang reassured her, a smile forming on her lips. “I didn’t take it like that. Don’t worry.” She paused, giving Blake’s words some more thought. Blake was right, though. She was a Faunus, and Yang was a human. It was cool for Yang to have experienced what being a Faunus was like, but for Blake, it must have felt…well, like less. Like she was missing something. Plus, Yang had a broken arm, so that would have been even _more_ distressing. Yang’s smile slowly faded. “This whole thing is really messed up, isn’t it?”

Blake acquiesced with a motion of her head, closing her eyes for a moment. She opened them again afterwards, and then took a spoonful of her cream of mushroom soup. “So, apart from eating tuna, what else did you do while you were in my body?”

Yang swallowed another bite of her sandwich. With mild difficulty. Whatever happened, she couldn’t mention the boob-touching—which was causing Yang more and more shame with every second that passed interacting with Blake. “Erm, I just basically walked around your house and talked with your cat. Explored, tried to figure stuff out. Basically the same things you did. I found your number on your fridge.” Yang gave this a second thought. “Unless you did other stuff you haven’t told me…”

Blake took a drink of her water. Yang found herself watching the Faunus’ throat as she gulped, but lilac quickly returned to golden when Blake set the glass down and shook her head. “I only made it as far as your living room before I spoke with your father and decided to go back to your room. On a different note, did you have access to any of my memories?”

This question prompted Yang to try and recall if she had remembered anything unfamiliar or if she had knowledge of stuff she shouldn’t. “Off the top of my head, I don’t think so. I really was just…me. I mean, I feel like I could concentrate a little better in your body. That might be one thing.”

Blake nodded slowly. “That might make sense. I didn’t notice a difference when we switched, but I think that may be because I didn’t think it was entirely real to begin with—and I was already distraught about everything else.” She seemed thoughtful, as if trying to measure something out, and then added, “So, we don’t have access to each other’s memories, but what you’re saying implies that some of our brain chemistry stays behind…”

Yang raised her eyebrows and shrugged a little. She ate some more. “I guess so? I don’t know. Do you think it’s going to happen again?”

“We don’t know what’s causing it to begin with. If I knew the trigger, I could find a way to both determine when or if it’s going to happen, and we could also maybe even find a way to prevent it.”

With this explanation, it occurred to Yang that Blake was probably even smarter than the blonde had given her credit for. At the very least, Blake was demonstrating some pretty logical reasoning, and that was more than Yang could say about herself. This girl was kind of remarkable.

Yang watched as Blake took the final spoonful of her soup and moved on to her salad. “Well,” Yang said, wanting to add _something_ to the conversation, “who do you think we could ask about this?”

“I don’t know, Yang.” Blake shook her head. “Right now, I’m not focused on asking anyone else. I want to gather as much information on our situation as I can and make sure we’re not completely crazy. If we do the right research and we still can’t figure this out, then we can seek outside help.”

“I bet Ozpin would know.”

Blake paused for a moment, looking conflicted. Then she sighed, “Maybe. But I’m not in a position to ask right now. I’m still new to my job, and bringing up the idea of body switching without any sort of evidence would not reflect well on me. Maybe when we have a better understanding of it.”

Yang didn’t get that. If there was a guy out there who could provide helpful answers, why _wouldn’t_ they go ask him? But whatever. Blake wasn’t ready for it, and doing so might affect her job, so Yang would be patient—which was absolutely fine because she also agreed with gathering more information on their situation first. But still. Blake struck Yang as the stubborn sort, just a little bit.

She meant well, though—Yang was certain of that. In front of Yang were the few remaining pieces of her cut-up sandwich, and, looking at them now, Yang still felt a twinge of embarrassment and gratitude. First saving her life, now saving her stomach; what _couldn’t_ Blake do? Yang smirked some, sliding a piece of her sandwich around the plate, and when she looked back up, she found Blake looking at her quizzically. The smirk broadened into a smile and Blake uncomfortably looked away. Yang felt so awkward but so grateful and amused, too.

“So,” she began again, earning Blake’s uneasy expression. “We don’t know what’s going on. We don’t know what’s causing it. We don’t know where to look for information. And we don’t know if it’s going to happen again. But in case it _does_ , I think we should be prepared.” Yang set her fork down and leaned against the table. She had been making a bad impression so far. Now it was time for her to show she was actually a nice, decent person, sort of. When she set her heart to it, at least. “So, ground rules. I wanna make sure I’m not stepping on your toes while I’m inside your body, and I wanna know if you have any boundaries you need me to respect in case anything happens. It’s your body, after all, and I’m pretty much a guest you never invited.”

Blake’s chewing slowed. It didn’t stop completely, as the Faunus looked like she was mulling over what Yang had said, and Yang found it impossible to eat while she did so. Yang just waited for Blake to piece her thoughts together, and, after a minute, those striking honey eyes turned on Yang seriously. Yang swallowed hard.

 “Well, there’s the obvious,” Blake finally said. “Don’t destroy my things, ruin my relationships or reputation, disrupt my work, harm my body in any way, or otherwise take advantage of me.”

Yang tried very, very hard not to react guiltily to that, doing her best to nod to every single item on that list. This was probably a good thing because it showed Blake that she was listening; however, at the same time, this proved to be a completely bad thing as it opened the door to a huge block of instruction that Yang had no choice but to nod along to for a few moments.

Blake told her to not feed Silver any tuna unless she was being really good—which was implied to be a once-in-a-blue-moon scenario—and to not let her out of the house for any reason. Something about chasing bugs and getting lost and being a feeble little baby. Yang was also told to go to bed no later than eleven every night, even on weekends. She was told not to befriend any of Blake’s students, drink alcohol at any point ever, or generally interact with anyone, as such an action would tarnish Blake’s mystique (or, as Blake said, her reputation). Yang eventually asked what would happen if she needed to shower or clean up, reminding Blake of how they had switched while Blake was super sweaty after her nightmare. Blake’s response was something between “Absolutely do not” and “I will take care of it when I get back.” Yang made sure to note this and never, ever think of messing with Blake’s body again.

Lastly, Blake had devised a protocol for when they switched bodies, and this was the first thing Yang genuinely nodded along to. “If we switch bodies,” Blake had said, “we should immediately try and contact each other. It is important that we stop what we’re doing so as not to interfere with each other’s lives and move to a location where we can be secluded and noninvasive. Ideally, we should try and meet up so we can monitor each other and make sure we don’t do anything the other would find disagreeable. But if that isn’t possible, we should try to isolate ourselves and wait until we switch back.”

“Good deal,” Yang agreed. “Though, uh, how should we contact each other if we’re switched?”

Blake blinked for a moment before furrowing her eyebrows and searching for an answer.

“Maybe,” Yang offered, “we could give each other our scroll passwords so we can call if we switch.” Blake seemed pleased with the idea—or as pleased as an edgy, somber cat Faunus could be—and was about to speak, but Yang made sure to add on one little thing. “Also, don’t look through my pictures. I mean, you can, but, like, don’t. Because there’s stuff on there that…uh, only my boyfriend is supposed to see.”

Blake blinked again. “Uh, okay… I wasn’t planning on going through your stuff, but duly noted.”

“And don’t look at my text conversations with him.”

“I promise you, I won’t.”

“Okay. Good,” Yang said with an amused smirk. “So, my passcode is 3896, just FYI.” It was easy enough for Yang to remember, being that it was Ruby’s birthday, and she imagined Blake with her super-developed brain wouldn’t have a tough time with it, either. But, just in case, Yang added, “When I get home, I’m gonna write that on a note and put it on my mirror or something in case you forget. And don’t worry about doing whatever with my scroll. I don’t _actually_ care. Just make yourself at home…but, like, don’t be weird about it, too.”

“I, uh, okay. Sure.” Blake rubbed her upper arm. “I’ll do the same. But I’ll just write it down then. I don’t feel comfortable saying my code out in public.”

“Cool cool.”

Yang found herself rubbing her upper arm, too, right above her cast. It wasn’t that she felt _nervous_ right now—in fact, she was surprised this meeting was going so relatively well—but she definitely felt a little on edge. Right now, she felt obliged to tell Blake her own ground rules. The problem was, though, that Yang didn’t really have any. Blake seemed like a trustworthy sort. Yang couldn’t imagine her doing anything reckless or harmful when they switched bodies, so warnings of that nature seemed pointless and perhaps even distrustful…which Yang realized probably meant little to Blake, considering they just met. But whatever. Yang trusted Blake not to do anything crazy.

“So, look,” Yang finally said, figuring that talking first and thinking later might work, “I don’t really have a lot of rules I need you to follow. Maybe just make sure to not push away my friends or family—not that I think you’d do that, but they kind of expect me to be a certain type of happy and confident, and, even for me, that’s a hard mask to wear all the time. I mean, I _am_ happy and confident, but you and me will have to play a character for them sometimes—an amplified version of me. Sex jokes, tons of high fives, ready to do anything. I’m not always my regular self around everybody.”

“…Understood,” said Blake. “I will try to keep things as they are.”

“And—don’t get me wrong; I mean this in the nicest way possible, Blake—but please try to stay away from my boyfriend. I don’t want him catching on to this switching thing while we’re still trying to figure it out, and I don’t want you being caught up with him trying to hit on you while he thinks you’re me while you’re really you but in my body… That didn’t make sense. But yeah. Just make sure to avoid my boyfriend whenever possible—like that isolation rule you mentioned.”

Blake’s brows furrowed, and Yang blamed herself for this. If there was any confusion, it was caused by Yang not making sense—which, in Yang’s defense, was kind of tonally perfect considering that very little was making sense and that they were only doing the best they could to figure these things out. Nevertheless, Blake asked, “I want to make sure I get this straight so I don’t disrupt your life. Do you want me or not want me to interact with your friends and family?”

“Do interact.”

“Okay—”

“But only if they interact with you first. If they don’t, try and scoot under the radar and, as you said, find me or isolate yourself.”

Blake asked, “And you want me to act like you, but not you?”

“Yes? I thought I was pretty clear on that.”

“I’m not… Well, okay. And then what do I do if your boyfriend interacts with me?”

“Try to get away before he can,” offered Yang. “But if he does, just go with the flow. But, like, no kissing him or anything—not that you would, but me and him have a pretty touchy-feely relationship. And don’t try and put him off or anything, but definitely try to make it seem like you’re busy or something and that you have to go somewhere else.”

Blake closed her eyes for a moment, nodded calmly, and looked to Yang. “I think I understand,” she said. “Assuming we do switch again, I will try my best.”

Yang smiled at her. “Don’t worry. I get the feeling you’ll be okay.”

This, in turn, caused Blake to look down at her salad and smile a little, too—just a little, but Yang was completely enraptured by that small show of emotion. It wasn’t the kind of smile that made the room light up or made all eyes turn on her, but it was discreet, concealing a secret that immediately drew in those who knew to look for it. And, probably, there was no secret at all, but Yang still wanted to _know_. It made her want to smile, too, and that was pretty great.

Deciding that she wanted to see more of this smile and, potentially, the range of emotions it could display, Yang continued, her own smile broadening. “Also, since you’re kind of a guest in Casa del Yang, I wanna make sure you’re as accommodated as possible. When I get home, I’m gonna clear out a drawer in my bureau and make that yours. I’ll put a note on it so you know which one it is. I’ll even go out and get some new clothes for you in case you ever find yourself needing to change. Plus, I’ll get some other stuff to make you feel welcome.

“But first I’ve gotta ask a few questions before I go out and do all that. On top of the extra clothes, do you need me to buy any special soaps or toothpastes for when you’re in my body? Or what about another toothbrush? I can imagine having to use my toothbrush would be pretty weird, and—”

“Yang,” Blake interrupted, her smile gone.

Yang’s chest constricted and her good mood vanished. “Yeah? Is something wrong?”

“No, it’s…” Blake exhaled slowly. “Thank you. That is incredibly kind of you to offer. But you don’t have to do that for me. This situation is already bothersome for both of us. You don’t need to accommodate me on top of everything else.”

“Nah!” With a dismissing wave of her left hand, Yang’s good mood returned. “It’s really, really no problem. I promise, Blake, this’ll go a lot easier for me if I don’t have to worry about you freaking out in my body. Just give me a list of things you might need, and I’ll be sure to get them. It really isn’t a problem.”

Blake was visibly at a loss. “Uh…” she breathed, staring at her salad with great intensity. It seemed she really didn’t want Yang going out of her way for her—which was endearing, but Yang hadn’t been lying about the offer. Finally, though, Blake relaxed in her seat a little, apparently giving in. “All right. That means a lot, Yang. Thank you. Do you want me to give you some mon—”

“Nope! This is the least I can do after you saved my life.” Because not only was it a debt Yang could never repay, but she also had to make up for being a pervert. Yay. But still—it made her happy that Blake seemed to appreciate the favor so much.

“Okay, fine, but you can’t use that line as an excuse for every kind thing you do for me,” Blake relented, but she was smiling again—with her eyes this time, an almost affectionate twinkle between those long eyelashes, somewhere behind the amusement, and Yang took a moment to remember she had to keep breathing.

She grinned. “Deal.”

This last exchange allowed them to settle into a comfortable silence in which Blake finished her salad and Yang finished her club sandwich. They soon moved on to asking each other about any medications they may require or any on-going health problems or allergies they may have, but this was only to find out that they were both two young and healthy adults who did not need any special kind of care or treatment.

Blake was drinking her tea now while Yang sipped at her glass of water. There was something Yang wanted to bring up, one last thing she felt was necessary to share with her companion. “If it’s all right with you, Blake, I think I will tell one person about this body switching issue—just because I may need someone else to confide in. I know she’ll be a good ally for you if it comes down to it.”

Blake was quiet, holding her cup of tea with both hands, patiently waiting for Yang to continue.

It was really strange for Yang. She was so used to being teased or interrupted by others—not because they were being mean—quite the contrary, in fact—but Blake was just…so respectful. And it didn’t feel like it was out of obligation or politeness or even timidity—Blake just seemed genuinely deferential. It was…really different from Yang’s other relationships. Again, she had to snap out of her daze. “I want to tell my younger sister Ruby. She lives with me and my dad. I might have to spend some time convincing her that all of this is even true, but that girl isn’t gonna tell anyone else, I swear.”

Blake nodded, mulling this information over. She took another sip of her tea, and then briefly sucked in her upper lip. “I’ll allow that. I think it might be a good idea as well.”

Yang smiled, glad that they were on the same page and that they had pretty much come to an agreement for the whole everything about their circumstances. She was no longer so nervous about the situation, and knowing more about Blake definitely helped.

It was also right about then that their waiter—Mike—appeared again. He grinned at them, especially at Yang. “Were the meals to your liking?”

“Yeah, thanks,” the blonde responded, and Blake echoed a similar answer.

“Did you want anything else? Desert, maybe?”

Yang glanced at Blake, checking to see if she wanted anything.

Blake shook her head once and said to Mike, “No. We’re fine, thank you. You can bring the check.”

“Sounds good! I’ll just take your plates, and then I’ll be back in a jiffy.” Mike took Blake’s plate and bowl first, and then when he reached down to take Yang’s he subtly—but not subtly, really—winked at her. And then he left, Yang rolling her eyes as he walked off.

Blake’s gaze followed Mike into the café. “Is he…bothering you?” she suddenly wondered, eyebrows creased in concern.

Yang immediately set a much kinder and more amused expression on Blake. “I mean, yes and no. He’s just not backing off. It’s kinda annoying. Sorta. But whatever. We’re leaving soon anyway. How’s your tea?”

“Oh, um.” Blake blinked into her cup, looking at it as if it had appeared in her hands out of nowhere. “It’s good. And…thank you for meeting me here. I’m glad we could discuss all of this. You were…very helpful.”

This made Yang beam. It made her happy that Blake had been able to draw something useful from their conversation—at least Yang had been good for _something_ in all of this. “I’m glad we could talk about it, too. And thank you for all the research you did. I’ll take a look at it once I get home and text you if I think of anything else.” As she said this, Yang made sure to close the folder and neatly put it to the side, somewhere she could grab it once she left. “I’ll also be sure to get you some grey and black clothes, just in case.” Her smooth charm returning, finally, Yang winked.

Blake only shook her head, but there was definitely amusement in her eyes again. “I’d appreciate that. Thank you. I also think that we don’t need to see each other regularly, but if anything comes up, we should absolutely contact each other. And if it’s anything we should talk about in person, then we can arrange to meet up again. Is that okay with you?”

Yang nodded. It was more than okay with her. “Yup. That suits me just fine.”

Shortly thereafter, and once Blake had finished her tea, Mike came back with the bill. He set it down on the table, and then gave Yang a look. “Do you want any more water?”

Yang was about to retort, but it was Blake who spoke instead in a suddenly cool voice, “Excuse me. Mike, was it?”

Mike pivoted towards Blake. “Yes?”

“My friend here has a boyfriend. Please keep the tone professional. Thanks.”

Yang stared at her, mouth a little agape, surprised by the intervention, and Mike seemed equally distraught. He took a step back. “Yeah, sorry. How will you be paying today?”

“Lien,” Yang replied, but she found herself inexplicably grinning at his expense. She took a rapid look at the check before standing slightly and getting her wallet out of her back pocket. She sat down again, pulling a few lien cards out of the leather folds and giving them to Mike. He took them, nodded his head, wished them a pleasant afternoon, and then left.

Yang met Blake’s gaze. “That was pretty wicked. Thanks, Blake.”

But Blake merely shook her head once more, and then she took her bag and draped its strap over her shoulder. “It’s nothing. Thank you for paying for the meal. And for everything else, Yang.” The Faunus stood up, and she took a few steps past the table, but then she stopped. Lilac met golden, and Yang just stared for a few seconds, enthralled again, until she realized that Blake’s hand was extended towards her.

“Oh! Heh, whoops.” Yang immediately stood up, too, and gripped Blake’s hand, once more finding the soft but firm contact. She also noticed she might have been an inch or two taller than the Faunus. If ever they met again, this would be an unstated point of pride. “So, see ya around, Blake?”

The raven-haired girl nodded. “See you, Yang. Take care.” She let go, and Yang did, too.

“Bye!”

And then Blake was gone, black hair flipping over her shoulder. Definitely like a fashion model. Or like a top secret agent.

A few heartbeats went by. Yang suddenly let out a huge exhale and slumped back down into her chair. Wow. That had been intense—like she had just fought wave after wave of Beowolf pups, in so far as it was exhilarating and exhausting and stressful but also completely easy and natural at the same time. Sure, the conversation had been pretty awkward here and there, but, overall, Yang had rarely met anyone who captured her attention so much. Blake was just so mysterious—intimidating, almost. However, Yang’s fears were mostly assuaged and the prospect of switching bodies with this girl was no longer so much of a concern. Despite the intensity and aloofness she exuded, Blake was a good, respectable person—that much, Yang could tell for sure, and it was obvious the Faunus would not treat Yang badly. Blake had already shown a lot of consideration towards Yang today, she had already put a lot of work into researching what was going on, and for all intents and purposes, they were now both better equipped to face the situation if it were to happen again.

Yang would definitely make sure to do her part, too. She would accommodate Blake and give that girl the executive treatment for if or when they switched next—scroll passcode, toothbrush, clothes, and more included. Maybe Blake wasn’t looking to be friends, but Yang certainly didn’t want to make an enemy out of her. Whatever happened would happen, and today had proved that they were both in good hands.

Finding that she had built up a sweat, either from the heat or the stress, Yang retrieved her sunglasses from their accidental power-play position and donned them again. Through the brown shade, Yang thought she could see Blake going back to the drop-off curb in the distance, but, really, Yang couldn’t. That girl was a shadow, and the crowd hid her quickly. Nevertheless, Yang was sweating and figured she was done with being outside for the day. She _could_ go shopping for Blake’s spare clothes now since she was at the mall and all, but today had been a bit too much already. She could always come back later. Right now, she just wanted to spend some time with Sun. She missed that hunky slab of boy-meat.

Yang pulled her scroll from her other back pocket and dialed Sun’s number, bringing the device to her ear. As the line rang, Yang amusedly looked out at the crowd, watching them take pictures of the distant, shimmering airships taking off and landing, and chatting about the bunches of bags they carried into and out of shops. Yang had no idea what she was going to say to her boyfriend when he picked up. All she knew was that, sweat or stress or not, today had turned out much better than she had expected.

The line connected and went quiet. There was a pause. “Hey, babe!” came Sun’s voice. “How’d your girl time go?”

Yang grinned, figuring out her correct response.

“ _Moooooom_!” she whined, causing the patrons around her to look at her funny. All she did was snicker quietly, keeping her façade strong. “Can you pick me up nowwwww? I’m ready to be picked up!”

“Sure thing! I’ll be right over.”

“And make it snappy, babe. I gotta get back to prison soon, and I’m kind of feeling like a conjugal visit.”

The call abruptly ended on her. Sun was coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There comes a point in every RWBY author’s life when money becomes a problem. No, I’m not talking about the incurable gambling debts we all have. I’m talking about REMNANT ECONOMICS. This is a problem because an author has to walk through the steps their characters take and understand how they are done, yet with RWBY’s money, NOTHING FREAKING MAKES SENSE. 
> 
> YOU HAVE THESE LITTLE PLASTIC MONOPOLY-MONEY-COLORED CARDS, BUT THEY’RE CASH, AND WHEN YOU PAY FOR STUFF, YOU HAVE TO PULL OUT MULTIPLE CARDS. ARE THEY LIVING IN SOME KIND OF LAST-MINUTE-GIFT-BUYER’S FUTURE WHERE THE ONLY VALUED CURRENCY LEFT IS GIFT CARDS? AND THEN THAT DOESN’T TOUCH CREDIT OR DEBIT CARDS. WITH THOSE, YOU’D HAVE A PLASTIC CARD THAT GUARUNTEES THE STORED VALUE OF A BUNCH OF OTHER PLASTIC CARDS KEPT BY A BANK THAT TRADES THOSE PLASTIC CARDS TO EARN MORE PLASTIC CARDS. LIKE, WHAT? HOW IS THIS SUSTAINABLE? OR IS THIS JUST SOME KIND OF REALLY HIGH-LEVEL CRITIQUE OF THE DOLLAR? 
> 
> I DON’T EVEN KNOW, MAN, BUT IT’S FRUSTRATING TO WRITE BECAUSE IT SEEMS SO STUPID TO HAVE YANG PAY FOR A SANDWICH BY GOING, “HERE, TAKE TWO PINK CARDS, A GREEN, AND FIVE AND A HALF BLUES.” BUT SOMEHOW, IT SEEMS WORSE FOR HER TO HAVE A DEBIT CARD OR SOMETHING WHERE SHE KNOWS SHE ONLY HAS TWO AND A HALF PURPLE CARDS LEFT IN THE BANK. 
> 
> Anyway, I’m going to go drown my frustrations by writing the next chapter. I hope you all have a splendtacular day.


	6. The Switchuation

Yang’s cast had come off. _Yang’s cast had come off_. It was worth repeating, and perhaps even shouting from the highest rooftops, but Yang’s cast had finally been removed and her sling had been thrown who knows where and now she was _free_. She felt like a new woman. Well, technically, she felt like the same woman who now had this weird, infrequent problem of switching bodies with another woman—but her arm was back! Ahh!

As one would expect, Yang’s freedom meant dinner with the boy. She and Sun were celebrating—making up for all the time Taiyang had so torturously kept them apart—not only because Yang finally had the chance to scratch her desiccated arm but also because she got paid for the stupid mission that had put her in that cast in the first place. Moreover—and this was the really exciting part—the payment from that mission, plus the compensation she received from her hunter’s insurance, finally put her over the amount she needed to start renting her own apartment. Absolute freedom! And _the boy_!

“Yang, that’s great!” Sun had said. “Babe, that means you’re gonna be your own person and do your own things without having to get your dad’s permission.”

“And I’ll be able to see you more often!” Yang had added.

“That, too!”

Markkanen’s was a nice, little, loud sports bar in the middle of downtown Vale. It didn’t have a club atmosphere, actually being a semi-respectable restaurant with its friendly wait staff and tiered levels of booths, thus making it a little intimate. But it also didn’t have that uppity feel of some of the other restaurants in this area, being that there were holoscreens everywhere playing all sorts of sports and sports commentary, thus making it completely fun. Yang and Sun were in a booth on the second level, eyes on each other, their drinks, and the current basketball game between the Southside Monarchs and the Schneestadt Jaegers. The entire bar seemed to be fans of the Monarchs, which made for some great, occasional eruptions that got the spirits going. Meanwhile, Yang and Sun found themselves caught between playing footsies and cheering for the block party one of the Monarchs was currently having.

“Have you got a place picked out yet?” Sun asked, grabbing one of the chips in their chip basket and dipping it in the salsa in their salsa bowl. “I mean, you could always save that money and move in with me.”

“Not so fast, monkey boy.” Yang took the uneaten chip from his hand and crunched into it, winking at Sun’s glare. “I like you. And I like Neptune. And as much as I like the thought of waking up in your arms every morning, I don’t plan on doing that while you’re being Neptune’s little spoon.”

“I’m not sleeping with Neptune!” Sun objected, perhaps a bit too loudly, eyes wide. He and Yang looked around, one in horror and the other in glee, seeing how a few other booths turned away from them in embarrassment. Sun then said, much quieter, “I’m not gay. Neptune’s seeing a few girls right now and he’s still trying to decide which one he likes.”

“Uh-huh… _Still_ trying to decide…”

“Well, testing the waters, if you know what I mean—”

“It gets cold in the winter, you know.”

“—except the water is commitment.”

“And sometimes when you find yourself without a blanket or fire, you might have to snuggle up with your bros.”

Sun smiled at Yang’s ongoing monologue. “I’m never living that one down, am I?”

“Especially when backup won’t arrive until the morning,” she added, smirking into her margarita. “Babe, I don’t even know why you two chose a multi-day mission to be your first experience in Atlas.”

 Sun sighed dramatically, placing his face on the table, between the chips and salsa. “I regret telling you that story,” he said, kind of laughing. “It was really cold, we were really tired, and I was really stupid because I didn’t bring my own sleeping bag. I thought Atlas would be a bunch of skiing and hot springs.”

“How were his arms?”

 Sun lifted his head from the protection of his own arms, looking at Yang with faux-tiredness. “What do you expect me to say, Yang?”

“Your true, inner feelings.”

“My true, inner feelings say that we didn’t hold each other. But what you want to hear is that his arms were tight and snug and made me feel loved. Happy?”

“Pleased as punch.” She had more margarita, then more chips and salsa, then _more_ chips and salsa, and then she smiled widely. Sun was a good sport about this—he knew Yang was just ribbing him. His relationship with Neptune was completely bromantic, but it was also never anything more than platonic, much to Yang’s joking disappointment. Teasing Sun still brought her great amusement, though, and Sun seemed game for it, too. However, the ego could only take so much, therefore Yang relented for the time being. “But as for your question,” she said. “I do have a place picked out. It’s actually sort of near where we are now—just, like, twenty or so blocks away.”

“Yeah. That’s _very_ near.”

“Excuse you,” Yang retorted, slightly defensive but mostly still teasing. “Compared to Patch, that _is_ very near. Plus, it’s a really cool bachelorette pad with a really cool view and a really short drive away from where you and your goggles daddy live.”

“He doesn’t wear goggles anymore!” Sun objected again, causing everyone around him to be even more embarrassed for him, somehow—honestly, Yang didn’t realize a person _could_ be more embarrassed for him, but here they were.

She sipped at her margarita again. “You’re right—also a little defensive of him, but you’re right. He doesn’t wear goggles anymore, but he _did_ steal my aviators look.”

“He says they’re an homage.”

“Uh-huh.” Yang rolled her eyes. “And that’s how he gets all the girls—’cause that’s how _I_ get all the girls.” Not that she’d ever been with any girls, but it was a safe assumption that she was more of a ladies’ man than Neptune would ever be.

Sun shook his head back at her for a moment before pausing, smirking, and leaning forward with a charming, smoldering, boy smile. “Baby, I’m all the girls you’ll ever need.”

Yang nearly choked on her drink. Covering her mouth, she sat back in her seat and exclaimed, “Lol!” thereby earning yet more embarrassment from the patrons around them. Fortunately, all the embarrassment was then washed away as that Monarchs player blocked yet another shot before running the length of the court and posterizing the guy who had made the shot in the first place. The bar was loud and rowdy, and this gave Yang the opportunity to fight back against her amusement. It was a losing fight, of course, but she still tried to mirror Sun's expression, leaning back across the table, giving him an a-little-more-amused-than-smoldering look back and battling through giggles to say, “Baby, you’re, like, the best futa ever.”

There was a look of confused amusement in Sun’s expression that quickly boiled into troubled breathing, then a red face, and finally loud, outright laughter. The patrons were still so perturbed by the noise the young couple was making, but neither really cared. Sun tried to say something—something mostly inaudible through his wheezed noises—but it sounded like, “Yeah, it’s these man-boobs! You just can’t get enough of them!”

Yang laughed with him, having been caught up in his infectious happiness. “You’re like,” she managed, “the most flat-chested futa ever.”

Upon saying this, Sun stifled a snort from among his guffaws and began flexing his sexy pecs, making his semi-buttoned shirt bounce. Yang just about died. The embarrassment of the patrons around them turned to concern as it was Yang’s turn to put her face against the table and repeatedly hit it with the bottom of her fist. She could barely get a laugh out—it must have sounded like she was crying, and she didn’t care at all. She probably was crying anyway.

Amid their crying and laughing and boob-bouncing—because Yang tried to mirror Sun’s actions with her own pectorals and succeeded more than she had anticipated—a friendly but completely awkward waiter came by with their burgers. Sun and Yang had to quiet down their laughter and make room on the table, but, as soon as he was gone, they began giggling again, much quieter and more relaxed this time.

Yang wiped a tear from her eye and sighed contentedly. “Oh, Sun,” she said. “I am definitely taking that apartment. I’m gonna enjoy doing this more often with you.”

“You mean eating out?”

Yang shook her head. “Making boob jokes. And yeah, _eating out_.” She waggled her eyebrows.

“You’re insatiable,” Sun said. “What’d I do to deserve a girl like you?”

“Well, you’re cute, funny, kind, and you’ve got a rockin’ bod. And you’ve been a really good friend to me and Ruby in the past, soooo I’m glad to spend time with you like this.”

He extended his hand across the table and beside their burgers, and she put her hand in his, and they continued making faces at each other like the sappy dorks they were. Sun really was a great help and a really great guy. To think they had been only happenstance acquaintances way back during the Vytal Festival, and now here they were: on a date, celebrating Yang’s impending independence and probably going to have sex on the way back to Patch. They could probably find a quiet spot on the ferry since it was so late…

In either case, Yang looked into those stormy, blue-grey eyes and, dotingly, said, “Excuse me. I was reaching for the ketchup. Could you move?”

“You grabbed my hand.”

“And you grabbed my heart. Now get out of the way. My fries demand tomatoes.”

The bar continued cheering for the Southside Monarchs as they kept beating down the Jaegers. It was a good place and a good night with really great company and a really great future ahead. Despite the weirdness of the body-switching problem and the fact that Yang and Blake hadn’t had an episode in a little over a week now, things were looking up for Yang. Her cast was finally off, she was out on the town again, and she was with _the boy_. She felt free again, like her life was getting back on the right track. There were a few things she needed to take care of before she actually moved out—namely, letting her dad and Ruby know about the idea in the first place—but, for now, she could be contented with getting buzzed and making goo-goo eyes at her boyfriend.

* * *

Blake sailed through the air and landed on the mat, rolling over her shoulder and immediately springing back to her feet. She let out a brief puff of air, flicking a few strands of hair out of her face, and then paused to stretch her muscles. Behind her, the obstacle course’s finish gates closed shut.

The quiet _click_ seemed to echo a little in the empty gym, and Blake’s cat ears flickered backwards, but she put one foot in front of the other, some distance apart, and reached down with both of her hands to hold her ankle. She held there for a moment, breathing evenly, and then repeated the movement with the other foot in front.

It was late in the evening, and Blake was alone in here—all by herself with Beacon’s high-tech obstacle course and every other possibly imaginable piece of equipment for working out. The students’ curfew was an hour ago, so none of them would bother her, and as far as Blake could tell, the other teachers didn’t care to visit the gym at this time. She seemed to be the only person who didn’t like being watched while she trained.

Staying in shape was one of her requirements as a teacher at a combat academy. There were a certain number of hours per week she had to put into keeping sharp—and she had to use the obstacle course, specifically, to this end because it could materialize hologrimm. Whether or not she decided to work out _beyond_ these requirements and on different machines was up to Blake—and she did, since the expectations set for Beacon’s teachers were fairly minimal and did not demand any rigorous difficulty or pacing, meaning professors like Peter Port could still get _out_ of shape if they didn’t exert themselves enough.

 Tonight, Blake had only gone through the obstacle course once, without any hologrimm to fight and the bear minimum of obstacles in her way. She was just warming up. The Faunus stood normally and then rolled her shoulders a few times before bringing her left foot up behind her and holding it there with her right hand, keeping her back straight.

She was trying very hard to focus on what she was doing—to just find her calm spot and think of nothing as she stretched and moved—but, inevitably, her mind drifted and returned to that meeting on Saturday. Returned to Yang.

Yang, with her casted arm somehow matching a ridiculously revealing outfit that also seemed so casual and comfortable; Yang, with her open curiosity and friendly lilac gaze; Yang, with her sunny smile that seemed to light up the sky; Yang, with every awkward and embarrassed reaction yet still able to radiate charm at every turn, still inspiring confidence amid an otherwise regrettable situation.

She was both everything and nothing like what Blake had seen in the mirror. It left her at an utter loss. Why in the _world_ was Blake switching bodies with this woman? For all intents and purposes, they were nothing alike. There was nothing in their lives apart from Beacon and their careers as huntresses that linked them to each other. They had never met before, they weren’t remotely related, they weren’t even of the same race, and their personalities—semblances, auras!—were practically polar opposites. They should have been _repelling_ each other, not drawing each other in like this twisted, nonsensical mosquito lamp that was body-switching.

There was _one_ strange coincidence about this whole ordeal, however—one that made Blake suspicious and hesitant. Yang’s semblance, while completely different from Blake’s, was _entirely_ similar to Adam’s. The means were not the same—Adam used his sword to charge his semblance while Yang made no mention of needing an intermediary to accomplish this—but the parallel was disturbing. Adam had been Blake’s partner, Blake’s closest friend for years. They had trained together and their fighting styles were complementary. He was a heavy hitter, just like Yang, and Blake was a precision striker.

The only argument Blake had to counter the unsettling possibility made by this coincidence—the thought of auras reincarnating or merging with someone after death, something Blake had completely failed to consider during her research—was one of the things Yang had said. Yang had moved on from being exclusively destructive with the damage she absorbed and released. Yang had grown and learned and was now a more effective combatant, using her semblance to keep herself fighting longer instead of giving devastating yet self-defeating blows.

Yang was not Adam. In fact, she was not even _like_ him. The similarity with their semblances still remained, but unless Yang had been lying—which Blake did not think was the case—she and Adam were two very different people. Adam had not come back in the flesh to execute revenge for what Blake had done to him.

Blake stopped her stretching, a deep frown on her face as she made her way back to the start of the obstacle course, footsteps soundless on the padded floor. She stopped again in front of the sleek white control panel at the entrance of the course, swiped her finger upwards above it, and activated a bluish holoscreen in midair.

The situation unnerved her to no end. It hadn’t been a constant thing on her mind for the past few days—she had classes to teach and other things to do, after all, and she and Yang hadn’t switched for over a week now, so maybe it wouldn’t even happen again—but when Blake’s mind wasn’t otherwise occupied, all she could think about was this stress that lingered due to the lack of answers.

What had caused it? Why wasn’t it happening again? Why _them_? Were there others dealing with this? How was it even possible? _What had caused it_?

Because the cause wasn’t Blake. And the cause wasn’t Yang. And the cause certainly wasn’t Adam. Neither girls had the ability to make this a reality, and Adam was dead. And neither girls seemed to have anyone else in mind who would want to make this happen to them.

Blake sighed, frustrated, and scrolled down the list of possible holographic opponents, adding Grimm to the course. She then chose an uneven terrain with lots of drops and jumps and turned the holoscreen’s dial on the right, upping the difficulty to medium. Next, she placed her palm on the control panel and it lit up around her fingers with a dark violet light for about two seconds. The holoscreen _beeped_ , and a blinking symbol in the corner indicated that the course had synced with her aura, ready to monitor it.

Blake set a timer, and then pressed start.

* * *

Yang had found her sea legs tonight. After two margaritas, two beers, and two risky, public orgasms, Yang’s legs had been a bit wonky for a while, but now she walked just _fine_. As expected, the ferry was mostly empty, aside from the crew and a few straggling passengers, so Yang and the boy had found a nice, quiet, waterfront spot to get their lovin’ on. Now, however, she stood before the lantern-lit entrance of her cabin home, waving goodbye to the taillights of Sun’s beater as they disappeared down the dirt road. She was by herself now—by herself with the sounds of crickets and the rustling forest and the wind that breezed through her golden locks—and she sighed in contentment. She could definitely go inside and sleep like her body wanted, but Yang wanted to spend just a little while longer like this—alone.

She liked Sun. And Ruby. And Taiyang. And JNPR. And, heck, she even sort of liked Blake in a passing thought. But Yang also liked this moment of uninterrupted peace. She wasn’t putting on a mask for anyone, wasn’t keeping her energy high, and she also wasn’t switching bodies. It was just Yang, her cast-less arm, and whatever she wanted to do next, and that was good. She liked that, too.

In her buzzed, tipsy, not completely drunk state—but also in her sort of drunk state that made her feel slightly more confident and happy—Yang thought it would be a good idea to face the music. After all, in the past week, she had gotten her cast off, had sex on a ferry, and spoke face-to-face with the girl who was _switching bodies with her_ , so going inside and talking to her father, who likely sat in the living room, nervously awaiting Yang’s safe return, about her plans to move out seemed like nothing in comparison. Telling him about the apartment would definitely suck, but it had to be done sooner or later. So, Yang decided, why not do it under the influence of crushed ice and tequila? 

She giggled slightly as she turned herself around. For some reason, she cleared her throat, facing the door she never intended to speak to in the first place. This made her giggle a little more. Tequila turned her into a giant baby sometimes, causing her to revert back to her most primal roots of laughing at stupid things like her toes or the air. She reached out for the door knob but stopped herself with yet another giggle. With her right hand—with her newly freed hand—Yang opened the door, resisting the urge to exclaim, “Honey, I’m home!”

Instead, she mumbled, “I’m home, dad.” She then closed the door and started slowly trying to get her sneakers off, something about the laces making her grin. They were so wriggly.

“Hey, Yang. I’m glad you’re all right.” Taiyang came walking out of the living room. The kitchen light was on, and he casually sat on one of the stools at the island counter, watching with a growing frown as Yang fiddled with the laces until she got one sneaker off at a time. “Are you drunk?”

“No. Are you?”

“What? No. Are you sure you’re not drunk?”

Yang snickered. “Are you sure _you_ aren’t?”

“Yang!”

The blonde slowly straightened her posture and gave her dad a reassuring smile. “Just tipsy. I know what’s going on, no worries.”

Taiyang stared at her, but then he relaxed his frown and sighed. “You were being careful, right?”

Yang bobbed her head, trying to be sage. “Condom in the water!”

Cobalt eyes narrowed suddenly. “What does that even mean? Yang, where did—”

She motioned for her dad to calm down with a wave of her hand. “’S okay, ’s okay. We were safe. I promise.” She grinned and made her way over to the sink, turning on the tap and grabbing some soap to wash her hands.

Taiyang rubbed his face. “All right, I believe you. This is your home, too, and I don’t want you to feel like you can’t just walk in here whenever or for whatever reason. I just don’t want you dealing with an unplanned baby.”

The comment, albeit honest and coming from a place of care, hit a sore spot for Yang. She felt the alcohol-induced happiness start to vanish as aura assisted her liver and certain memories came to mind. Yang deliberately turned the tap off after making sure her fingers were clean, and then dried them with the nearest hand towel hanging on the oven’s handle. She didn’t want to show that she was mildly upset about the comment—like how Yang, herself, was an unplanned baby and how her own mother had abandoned her after birth. Yang had never actually been _wanted_ , and this point had been hammered in when Taiyang had failed to take care of her after Summer’s death.

Still, she wasn’t able to remain completely unfazed due to her lowered inhibitions, and her tone was less jovial when she said, “Speaking of home—I want to move out. I have the money for it now.” She rested a hand on the counter.

Taiyang turned in his seat to look at her in surprise—and maybe in mild hurt. They had never seriously spoken about this before—Yang had broached the topic sometime after graduation, that she thought she might eventually find her own place once she saved up enough funds, but it had only been an idea at the time. Nevertheless, Taiyang had not taken the hypothetical lightly. But now they _had_ to talk. And she was an adult, and she would be her own woman.

Eyebrows creased in concern, Taiyang asked, “Why now? Why so suddenly?”

“It’s not sudden. I’ve wanted to have my own place for a while. It’s just that I haven’t told you about it until now. I’ve been saving and working hard for the past three years to be able to afford my apartment in Vale, and I know I can pull the trigger with what I’ve got.”

Taiyang looked down. He swallowed, and then seemed to think for a moment. Finally, he said, “Okay. I’ll support you, Yang. But I just want to make sure you know you have a place here. You’re not leaving because of me, are you?”

Yang wasn’t the only one who dealt with insecurity. Her father had experienced loss, too. Unfortunately for him, after having been forced to shoulder both her own pain and his for years—and take care of Ruby’s emotional wellbeing and physical needs on top of that—Yang had become a bit numbed to his worry. She firmed her gaze. “No, I’m leaving because I’ve been ready to be on my own for a very long time.” It was tempting to add _thanks to you_ , but she refrained. “I just needed the means. Now I do. I love you, dad. But I need to be my own person.”

Taiyang probably caught the insinuation. Yang wasn’t being as tactful or smooth as she usually was. His voice was a bit hoarse when he asked, “When do you plan on leaving?”

“I don’t know yet. Soon. I have a place in mind, so probably within the next few weeks.”

Her dad stared at her. His eyes seemed vaguely bloodshot, as if he felt like crying but was holding himself back from doing so. He eventually rose to his feet and then came around the island counter to stand before Yang. Taiyang had always been a giant in her young eyes, and even now, he stood almost a foot taller than her. She remembered him holding her small form on his broad shoulders, back when Summer was still alive. He should have been Yang’s fortress. That was what dads were supposed to be. But he hadn’t been there. He hadn’t been the safe place she could find refuge in when she was scared and alone.

Taiyang gently put his hand on her cheek. It was warm, and in any other circumstance the gesture might have been reassuring, too. “I’m sorry, Yang,” he murmured. “I never meant…”

“I know. But that’s in the past.” She stepped away from him, if only to keep herself from feeling vulnerable, from letting him make cracks in her armor, and said, “I need you to support me. Can you do that?”

He sighed deeply, his shoulders drooping. “Yes.” He then motioned towards the stairs halfheartedly. “Ruby came back from her mission. Maybe you should go speak with her, too.” Taiyang started back towards the living room. “I just need some time right now. Thanks for letting me know.”

Yang didn’t reply. She watched him for a moment, a twinge of hurt and guilt constricting her chest, but she couldn’t deal with this now. His pain wasn’t her problem. They were long past that point. And so, Yang did her best to block out the stress and remain untouched, and set her mind on a more joyful conversation—the one she would have with Ruby.

With a sigh of her own, trying and failing to bury her frustration, Yang started up the stairs. She found herself gripping the railing a little tighter than usual, not out of inebriated clumsiness—which, unfortunately, had been diminished once her aura had decided to kick in—but out of impatience at her father. This was not how she wanted to see Ruby. Yang had not seen the little goof in about a week now, and going into Ruby’s room when she was most likely smelly and tired from her mission for the sole purpose of dumping all these frustrations on her wouldn’t be healthy for either sister.

Besides, Yang still had to tell Ruby about Blake and the whole interdimensional, interspiritual confusion that was body-switching. That would be…a thing. And a thing meant more stress. Weh.

Standing atop the stairs, Yang let her shoulders sag. It was dark up here, but there was a glow emanating from the bottom of Ruby’s door, the second on the right. Yang could hear tinny rock music playing in Ruby’s headphones and an occasional hum that went along with it. She was in a good, normal, the-laws-of-physics-still-kind-of*-work mood, and Yang was about to drop a bomb on her. At the very least, Yang was still a _little_ buzzed. She could work with that.

Yang walked up to Ruby’s door and knocked.

No answer came.

Yang knocked a little louder.

There was still the rock music and the humming, but no answer. Sighing, Yang decided to just enter because the only bad thing that could possibly happen would be a loud, startled squeak from Ruby, and that was comparably tolerable to what other siblings might have to deal with. The door opened, and light spilled into the hallway, and as Yang stepped into the light-ish-red room, she saw her little sister—in her pajamas, at her desk, with headphones on, doing something on her laptop, and generally being oblivious to Yang’s presence.

As Yang got closer, she noticed that Ruby had already showered. Her hair was still a bit wet at the tips, and she smelled tropical. Her rucksack was lying on the floor next to her bureau and Crescent Rose was in its case, placed neatly before Ruby’s mirror. For a moment, Yang thought about taking advantage of Ruby’s obliviousness and doing something creepy like sneaking up on her and taking a long, loud sniff of her face from behind, but tonight was not that kind of night.

Instead, Yang sighed and made herself at home. She took off her olive bomber jacket, held it to her chest, and then proceeded to fall face-first onto the bottom bunk of Ruby’s bed. Oh, what a relief it was to fall without arm pain.

Upon Yang’s hitting the mattress and shaking the room around her, Ruby jumped. Her headphones practically flew off her head, she just about climbed up her chair, and she half-glared, half-stared half-wide-eyed at Yang, who could only half-smirk into her sister’s pillow. Even if Ruby wasn’t feeling better, Yang was, and the blonde would take that as a victory.

“Yang!” Ruby loudly squeaked, startled. “Don’t scare me like that!”

“Hello to you, too,” came the rough translation of Yang’s “Mm-hmm mm moo, moo.”

Yang turned her head a little and saw Ruby climbing down to sit in her seat like a normal person. Apparently, she too was frustrated, though Yang figured this was a pretty new development considering she was no longer humming to the song that was on her floor. Ruby clicked a few things then pressed a few buttons on her laptop and then finally—exasperatedly—turned to Yang. “What?” she asked, having no time for Yang’s shenanigans.

Having lain down, Yang felt some of her buzz return to her. Giggling, she outstretched her arm towards Ruby—who didn’t know what she was expected to do in return, just staring at the intrusive limb—and began waving really quickly. “Hi!”

Ruby’s posture relaxed, her frown disappearing. “You were out with Sun tonight, weren’t you?”

Yang nodded. “And you were out on a mission! How’d it go?”

“Well, I, uh,” Ruby began, leaning back in her seat, “I didn’t make it back alive. So, that sucks. And the monsters got away. And everybody died. And now we have to live under the rule of a great, big Goliath. So, it was kind of an all-around disaster.”

“Ooh,” cooed Yang, _completely_ a propos of Ruby’s story, reaching out and trying to poke a now-dodging Ruby’s cheeks. “Holo-Ruby…” When Yang finally got close to poking her sister, leaning a little off the bed to do so, Ruby moved towards her and tried to chomp at the offending digit. She missed, thankfully, which allowed Yang to poke Ruby right on her little nose. “Poke.” She smiled, not as drunk as she probably seemed. “I’m glad you’re back in one piece.”

Ruby tried biting her sister’s finger again, but Yang pulled her hand back while Ruby relaxed and found some semblance of her usual pep—it was a tired semblance, but she smiled nevertheless and always had an ear to bend. “Same, TBH,” she said. “And it looks like you’re back in one piece, too. How’d taking the cast off go?”

Yang waved her itchy arm flippantly. “Doctor had to cut me out. I couldn’t hulk out of it like I wanted to, but whatever. At least I’m free.”

“You actually thought you could hulk out of your cast?”

“Well, yeah!” Yang defended. “I’m, like, me!”

“Nobody has forearms that big, Yang.”

“Sun could do it.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yuh-huh!”

Yang accentuated this rebuttal by blowing a raspberry. Truly it was smoking-gun evidence if ever there were any. But then there was a pause between them, a long, comfortable pause as Ruby went about rolling her eyes, tapping the side of her chair with her fingers, and otherwise swinging her legs beneath her seat. Their dad had bought her that chair when she was seven, and she had never fully grown into it. But Yang never pointed that out. With her other friends, she felt confident bantering with them, but with Ruby, Yang had no such instinct. Well, there would always be _some_ banter—because how could there not?—but Yang’s instinct was to only say and do nice things for her tiny baby sister.

Unfortunately, the things Yang had to say tonight weren’t exactly nice. They weren’t bad, necessarily, but they weren’t the easiest things to digest—or understand. Ruby was waiting on Yang to say something, just looking at her expectantly, and Yang thought about just leaving then and there, but she decided that would get no one anywhere. She sighed. “So…Ruby,” she said, earning a semi-eager nod. “I have two maybe kinda sorta big things to talk to you about.”

Ruby frowned. “Are they serious?”

“Eh, not really. At least, they’re nothing bad.”

Ruby smiled. “Are they about your arm?”

“Nah. Well…actually, kind of? But, like, they’re not?” Yang buried her face in Ruby’s pillow, staring into soft, cottony darkness. “Anyways, I don’t know which one to start with because they’re both kind of…”

“Difficult?”

“Yeah, sure. That’s an understatement, but let’s go with it.” Yang shook her head and tried to force an amused smirk. She was in an okay mood now—much better than she was only minutes ago and probably better than would be once she had time to reflect on her previous conversation with her dad—but neither subject brought Yang any joy, and she still felt a little frustrated. It was just anxiety—that newfound horror. “But yeah,” she said. “Difficult subjects. I’ve got two of ’em, and I don’t know which one to pick first, so I’ll have you pick. A or B, Ruby?”

“Umm…” Ruby scratched the back of her head, squinting in actual thought. “I’ll pick…B.”

“B for body switching it is.”

“What?”

Yang rolled over and sat up, facing Ruby as she tried—a very, very key word—to explain something that Yang could hardly explain to herself. She got comfortable against the headboard and let out a long sigh. “So, you’re probably not going to believe this because it sounds crazy, but…yeah, I’ve kinda sorta switched bodies with another girl… And it’s happened twice since my last mission.” There was a pause, and as the silence persisted, Yang moved her gaze from her feet to Ruby.

Ruby was just staring at Yang intently, searching her expression in confusion. “Like… _switched bodies_? Yang, are you drunk? You sound drunk.”

Yeah, Yang’s timing hadn’t been great for this, honestly. She put a finger up. “Just a bit tipsy, thank you very much. But both times, I wasn’t under the influence of any alcohol when it happened.” The blonde put in an extra effort to look focused and serious. “I _met_ her, Ruby. In _real life_. Her name is Blake—she’s a cat Faunus and works at Beacon as a new professor. We talked about the whole weirdness of this. We both completely agree that this is nuts—but it’s totally happening.”

Now Ruby was squinting at Yang, loosely holding on to her chair, the perfect picture of skepticism. “There are words coming out of your mouth, but none of them make sense. What…language are you speaking?”

Yang sat up from her slouch and positioned herself on the edge of her little sister’s bed. “I,” she said, gesturing exaggeratedly at herself, “went into,” her hands moved widely somewhere in front of her, “another girl’s,” they formed the vague shape of a person, “body. And that same girl,” now Yang just pointed at the invisible, imaginary vague shape of the person, “went into _my_ body,” her hands returned and patted her upper chest, “at the same time.”

It was funny how Ruby still looked absolutely disbelieving—really, it was. “But, like… _how_? When? That doesn’t seem possible…”

Yang lifted her arms up to the heavens—maybe partially thanking said cloudy meadows for even being able to do that in the first place with two arms—and then dropped them again. “Same! Blake and I have those exact questions. We don’t know what’s going on. I mean, the first time it happened was during my fight with the Petra Gigas. I passed out after I broke my arm and she’s the one who got me—well, my body—out of there. She saved my life. And then the second time was pretty much a week ago during the night, randomly. Both times lasted only fifteen minutes or so. We’re just as confused as you are.”

Ruby was clearly stumped. Her eyebrows were furrowed in a cute frown and she still looked lost. “So…you’re telling me that if I go to Beacon, I’d be able to meet Blake and ask her about this, and she would validate everything you just said?”

Yang nodded vigorously. “I swear I’m not pulling your leg. I could call her right now and get her to talk to you.”

Ruby shook her head. “Yang, this is crazy. I mean, you seem pretty convinced of all of it. But…well—so…I guess I believe you.”

That was…surprisingly quick. And a lot less painful than Yang had anticipated. Maybe Ruby didn’t completely believe her—and, hey, Yang wouldn’t blame her—but Yang wasn’t going to look a gift Ruby in the mouth. 

Speaking of said credulous girl, she asked, genuine curiosity shining behind her still-skeptical expression, “What does it feel like?”

“Well, it just feels like I’m me but with a different body I can control. It’s totally weird.”

Ruby just stared. And then she said again, “Yang, it’s so crazy. Just… _how_?”

“I don’t know, Ruby.”

“Yeah, but… _how_?”

“I don’t _know_!” Yang’s eyes widened. “Magic or something! It just… _is_.”

There was a moment where nothing happened, and in that moment Yang was scared that she had completely weirded Ruby out. But before she could look over to her sister, she heard a small laugh. Yang looked to Ruby, who, with a completely terrible smile, said, “Yeah, but how?”

Yang’s expression cooled. “You want me to come over there?”

She didn’t have to say anything more. Ruby’s eyes were full of fear. “…No,” she squeaked.

Yang exhaled, venting the frustrations that were catching her. She stared up at the wooden slats of Ruby’s upper bunk. “So, yeah. Me and a professor at Beacon are magically switching bodies for some reason. And I thought I’d let you know in case it happens while you’re around. But don’t tell anybody. Please. This is, like, way too weird to let other people know.”

“Yeah, okay. No intentions of doing that. But more importantly, how will I know if you are…Blake?”

“Or Blake is me.”

“That too.”

Yang rubbed the back of her neck. “That’s an interesting question. Well, if I suddenly become really awkward or polite or edgy and very serious, then probably ask me if I’m Blake.”

Ruby narrowed her eyes. “I take it that means Blake is really awkward or polite or edgy and very serious?”

“All of the above.” Yang creased her eyebrows and let herself fall back down, careful to not bump her head against the wall and knock herself into a worse situation than body switching. Because if a broken arm had caused this, she wondered what a concussion would do… “I mean, I think you’ll know,” she sighed. “I’ll probably have a different look in my eyes.”

“Yang…it’s a little scary when you put it like that.”

 _It’s a little scary when we body switch_. The blonde waved her hand aimlessly in the air. “No, don’t worry. It’ll be okay, Ruby.”

They both fell silent, both thinking about their conversation and what it entailed. One girl sat at the desk, idly kicking her feet back and forth, chewing on her lip as she evidently tried not to be concerned, while the other girl lay on the bottom bunk, passing an absentminded hand through her hair, trying not to be _overly_ concerned—and failing, honestly. Eventually, though, Ruby asked, “What was A?”

“What do you mean?”

“A.”

“Ruby.”

“I mean the A or B choice. I chose B. What’s A?”

Oh. Right. There was something else Yang wanted to talk about. “Uhhh.” Her hand dragged down her face. It did nothing to soothe her unease. Technically, this was supposed to be good news she was about to say. But it stressed her out, especially after the way her dad had reacted. Nevertheless, Yang sat back up and attempted a smile. “I’m gonna move out,” she said. “I have the money now, and I think I have a place picked out.”

Ruby stared at Yang, blinked, and then she grinned, immediately peppy, silver eyes bright. “Oh, that’s cool! Can I come?”

It was Yang’s turn to blink. Of all the reactions, this was not the one Yang had anticipated. And that made it so much worse. Dread settled in her gut. Her smile became very difficult to maintain. “I don’t know…” she replied, finding herself off-guard.

“It would be just the two of us, Yang!” Ruby sounded elated. “I mean, I get it, Sun might be around kinda often, but he’s a lot of fun! We’d be roomies!”

The dread was turning to ice in Yang’s stomach. She loved Ruby. She loved Ruby to death. But…but… “Ruby,” Yang tried, a little strained and struggling and failing to find anything appeasing or smooth to say. She did not want to make Ruby sad. She did not want to make Ruby feel like she wasn’t wanted. She was wanted. Yang wanted Ruby to be in her life forever. But Yang had not planned on taking Ruby with her. The older sibling needed to be on her own now, and Ruby could handle herself.

As if things couldn’t get worse, Ruby hopped from her seat and plopped down next to her sister, putting one chummy arm around her shoulders. “I have money, too, if that’s what you’re worried about. I can chip in.”

Yang’s mind was pulling a blank. She tried backpedaling, tried to come up with a joke, but she didn’t want to lie, either. She didn’t want to break Ruby’s trust. She had expected some kind of resistance or support, not a wish to come along, and that threw all Yang’s drunken expectations to the wayside. Her heartbeat accelerated. All she could see was Ruby’s hopeful, jubilating expression, and normally this would have been the best, most adorable thing, but now it was an insurmountable obstacle.

She didn’t want to disappoint her. She didn’t want to see that light fade. What was she ever supposed to… “Ruby, I’m sorry,” she tried. “I just…” It was so hard to say, and the alcohol was no longer helping her. “I just need to move out. By myself.”

Yang saw it. From this distance, it was unmistakable. Little by little, as realization dawned on her, the light faded from Ruby’s gaze. The change in demeanor was subtle, and Yang could have missed it if she didn’t know Ruby well enough, but it was obvious to the blonde that Ruby was disappointed. She dropped her arm from Yang’s shoulders, and Yang’s heart was torn. First, her father’s pain, and now Ruby’s. Yang was the cause of it—all of it.

“You want to move out,” Ruby said, going over what she heard, “by yourself.”

“Ruby, I’m sorry.”

“I mean, it’s okay. I get it. It was bound to happen eventually.” The younger girl swallowed hard and sighed, just a bit raggedly. “But, like…” She shook her head. “Never mind.”

Yang pushed herself over to the edge of the bed. She needed to be closer to Ruby. She was already beginning to feel so far away from her. “Ruby,” she said, reaching out and trying to find Ruby’s hands with her own. She failed in this endeavor, though, as her sister shied and turned away from her attempt. “Ruby, I should have told you earlier. I shouldn’t have kept this a secret. I don’t know why I did, I…”

“No, it’s okay, Yang. Baby bird’s gotta fly the nest sometime, right?”

Yang’s heart went from racing to sprinting. It didn’t care anymore about winners or losers—it was looking to run itself out of Yang’s chest. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” she attempted, finding herself short of breath in this panic. “That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

Ruby slowly looked down at her lap. “Everybody moves on eventually.”

Yang may not have been breaking Ruby’s heart, but Ruby felt like she was losing her sister. She wasn’t, but that’s what she knew. It was abandonment or disinterest or, worse yet, betrayal. This would be loss, a lessening of the happy life Ruby had become comfortable with. It was all stemming from selfishness, from Yang’s self-preserving instinct to move on and bring no one with her. But that wasn’t right. It was hurting Ruby. _Yang_ was hurting Ruby—her sister—her one true constant.

Through her quick heart and fast breaths, Yang watched, as if from suddenly and ethereally afar, the glow of Ruby and her happiness and the room fade. Darkness crept in on Yang’s vision, and she felt that pit in her stomach plummet, and she along with it. She was falling, now in complete darkness, and Ruby was gone. Yang was gone, too. Gone and away. In that moment of panic, the Yang Ruby knew slipped elsewhere, and, in that Yang’s place came another. The body dipped a little, nodded a little, nearly fell over, and then it jolted upright, revivified with a new persona. The room—wherever it was—was unfocused and blurry, shades of pink and brown and white helping Blake quickly realize that she was no longer in Beacon Academy’s gym.

Now in Yang’s body, Blake felt her—or not her—heartbeat race, and the pounding of blood in her veins caused Blake to refocus on the present room, quickly taking in everything that was visible and reacquainting herself to the imprecision of human senses. But despite the slightly dimmer vision and the slightly muted hearing and the olfactory senses that made her feel slightly claustrophobic, Blake was able to detect one peculiarity amid this already peculiar situation.

There was a girl, and she wasn’t a reflection of Yang.

She was looking at Blake weirdly, like she had just seen a ghost. Blake didn’t know the specifics of this body switching yet, and she certainly didn’t know how it must have looked from an outside perspective, but she knew it must not have looked graceful. Thinking this and being Blake, the only response she had to this strange, weirdly staring girl was to weirdly stare back.

They were motionless like that for a long time. Blake couldn’t tell if this panic was her own or if it came from Yang’s body. She figured, though, that this was not worth splitting hairs over, so she decided that she was indeed panicked and that it didn’t matter whose panic it was originally because it was completely and totally hers now. There was a girl here—with big, uncertain, and barely tearful silver eyes—and she was looking at Blake like she _knew_. She was looking at Blake like she knew that Blake knew—and that Blake knew that she knew that Blake knew. Whoever this was, it was a person in Yang’s life. Blake’s instincts told her to run and deal with this problem another day, but Yang’s rules from a week ago told her to not mess any of her relationships up. Whoever this was, they were putting Blake in a predicament, so all the Faunus could reasonably do was sit, wait, and watch as this silver-eyed girl sat, waited, and watched her in kind.

This lasted for probably longer than they were both comfortable with. Finally, though, those silver eyes blinked and narrowed a little, and the girl asked in a—unsurprisingly, surprisingly—childlike voice, suspicious, “Are you Blake?”

Blake, whose mind was already in overdrive trying to figure out who this was and what to do and how to act, was again tempted to make a run for it. With a great deal of effort, she managed to stay in place and form a few logical thoughts. This girl had just said her name. She knew who Blake was. She recognized that Blake may be the one sitting in front of her, despite being in Yang’s body. And Yang had said there was only one other person she would tell about this whole body-switching problem—her sister, Ruby. This girl sitting before Blake was the same one from the photographs on Yang’s bureau, too.

She didn’t look like Yang. But, for all intents and purposes, this was Ruby, Yang’s sister, asking Blake if Yang was Blake.

Blake exhaled unsteadily and decided to answer honestly—because, really, at this point there wasn’t much else she could do. Not smoothly, anyway. “Yes, that’s me.”

Ruby creased her eyebrows, her expression becoming even more suspicious, eyes narrowing. “Yang, are you just pulling my leg?”

Uh-oh. Ruby wasn’t convinced. Blake scrambled for something that would be sufficient evidence to prove Yang was no longer present. She did this for about five seconds before realizing the cause was lost. Blake let out a long sigh and simply said, “I’m sorry. There’s nothing convincing enough that I could say to make you believe I’m Blake now. You’ll have to trust that I…just am.”

Apparently, though, something about Blake’s words made Ruby lean away with a frazzled expression on her face. “Okay, yeah, you’re definitely not Yang.” There was a pause, and then she inched away from Blake’s side, looking a lot more worried now as the truth seemed to actually dawn on her. “Oh… You’re not Yang. Oh. New person.”

“Um…yes.”

“ _Oh_.” Ruby hopped to her feet, looking both confused and incredibly awkward. “Um, hi. I’m Ruby. Er, it’s nice to meet you? How does this work?” She peered at Blake again like the Faunus was some kind of bizarre circus attraction. “This is really, really weird…”

Blake couldn’t agree more. She still wasn’t quite over her panic, either. “It’s…nice to meet you, too…um, Ruby. Yang told me about you.” Blake’s eyes drifted around the room, taking in the desk and chair and laptop nearby, and then the top bunk above her head. She hunched her shoulders a little.

Ruby just stood there, and there was another painful silence that stretched on and made Blake want to hide somewhere—anywhere. “Do you…want a glass of water?” Ruby asked.

Blake couldn’t determine if she did or not. She felt a bit strange—but, then again, she was in Yang’s body. So, feeling strange was probably normal, all things considered. _Why_ had this happened again? One moment she had been working out in Beacon Academy’s gym, and the next she was in a room that likely belonged to Ruby. Which suggested a different question. Her gaze suddenly locked with silver. “Ruby, where are we?”

This gave Ruby a puzzled look. With mild bewilderment, meanwhile, Blake realized she hadn’t even answered Ruby’s own question and had jumped to an entirely different topic. But Ruby was already answering, “Um, my dad’s house?”

“No, thank you.”

“…What?”

Blake put her face in her hands and sighed deeply again. She knew she wasn’t always the most socially adept person, but for some reason she was even more incapable of a sensible conversation right now. Blake dropped her hands—hands that were soft yet calloused, as if often given rough treatment but kept moisturized. They were nice. “I meant the glass of water.” She slowly shook her head and asked, “Where’s your dad’s house located?”

“I mean…we have coffee, too. Or milk.”

“What?”

Ruby chuckled. “Sorry, the drinks. If you don’t want water.”

“Oh.” Blake squinted. This was, by far, the strangest and bumpiest conversation she’d ever had—and Blake had had a lot of those, so that was saying something. It was making her conversation with Yang back on Saturday seem smooth, and Blake would have never thought of it as such until now. She had to try and stay on top of things here. “I don’t need anything to drink. But, again, thank you.”

“Okay.” Ruby nodded. There was another short pause. Ruby stared at Blake. Blake focused very intently on her lap. Side note, Yang was wearing decent, non-scandalous jeans this time, much to Blake’s relief. Suddenly, Ruby exclaimed, “Oh, right! My dad’s house is on Patch. We’re on Patch.”

Patch. The small island just off the west side of Vale. Blake wasn’t all that far from Beacon. That was reassuring. Thinking about Beacon made Blake realize that Yang was now in her body _at the academy_. This made Blake stand up and start looking for something, although she really didn’t know where she would find it. “Ruby, I need to contact Yang. Where’s her scroll?”

“Uh…probably in her jacket.”

Blake stared at Ruby. They blinked at each other.

“…On the bed?”

“Thanks.” Blake immediately turned around and found an olive bomber crumpled against the wall. She grabbed it and started searching the pockets until she found the device she was looking for, vaguely aware of Ruby still observing her from behind. Blake opened the scroll and then paused, taking a moment to remember Yang’s password. It was… “Ruby, what’s your…” Blake shut up. Maybe Ruby shouldn’t know Yang’s password. While Blake had no urge to look at the kind of things Yang kept in her scroll, the same may not have applied to Ruby.

“What’s my what?”

“…favorite color?” Blake winced as soon as the words came out. She faced Ruby. “Don’t answer that. Can you give me a moment? I’m going into Yang’s room to contact her. I’ll be right back.”

Ruby’s eyes widened a little, but she nodded and stepped out of the way, hands held behind her back. “I’ll be here. Um, dad’s downstairs, just so you know.”

“Thank you.” That was useful information. Blake had no intention of going downstairs, but now she had a valid reason to avoid the action altogether. She left Ruby’s room, scroll in hand, walking on socked feet in this body that just felt…heavier and far less graceful. Lumbering. She knew Yang most likely didn’t feel like this—Yang would know how to use all of these muscles and height and long limbs—but Blake had never felt like this in her life, and it was the worst. Combined with the imprecise vision and other underdeveloped senses, Blake still felt like she was wearing one those old diving suits.

 Right now, she was really hoping Yang had abided at least _somewhat_ by the plan they had formed on Saturday.

The hallway was dark, like last time, but the ambient light from Ruby’s room made things easier to see. Blake made her way to the farthest door on her left, the one closest to the staircase, and opened it. She flicked the light switch up and found that this was indeed Yang’s room. The blonde had said she would put her password on a piece of paper on her mirror. Blake went over to the wooden bureau in the corner and stopped in front it, staring into the mentioned glass.

She was still a bit startled when her reflection did not show a black-haired, pale-skinned, amber-eyed cat Faunus. No, there was Yang—in all her tanned, disheveled beauty. This was ridiculous. Blake ignored the foreign glaring eyes as best she could and looked at the actual mirror’s frame instead. She breathed a sigh of relief. Yang had at least upheld this part of the agreement—the little paper was in the corner, a few numbers scribbled on it.

Blake opened Yang’s scroll again and punched in the numbers. The scroll unlocked. She quickly found Yang’s contact list and found her own name. There was a cat emoji next to it. With a weary sigh, Blake pressed the call button and brought the scroll to her ear, making a point of turning her back to the mirror. For some reason, staring at Yang made her frustrated.

The call rung five times before Blake heard her own voice say, “You’ve reached Blake Belladonna. I’m unavailable at the moment. If it’s an emergency, please leave your name and number and I will get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks.”

Blake hung up, cringing a little at her voice. She stood there for a moment. Why wasn’t Yang answering—hadn’t they agreed on the procedure they would follow if they switched bodies again? It was really difficult for Blake to tell if Yang was the responsible sort, but, honestly, she didn’t come across as such. Still, Blake was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, even though she didn’t have much of another option. But that left Blake with a more pressing kind of worry. What if something had happened that forbade Yang from answering? What if it was bad?

Blake clenched her teeth. She didn’t like this. Blake pulled up her messaging conversation with Yang and typed, _I really hope everything is okay. Please call me when you see this text_. She pressed the send button.

She wasn’t really expecting to receive an answer right away, so Blake took a calming breath in and slowly exhaled. There wasn’t much else she could do right now except wait. She could try calling again later, but for now, there was no way of even getting to Beacon so late into the evening. From Patch, it would be impossible to make it to the last airship leaving for Beacon at this time. And even if she _could_ make it, Blake would first have to convince Ruby to help her leave Patch somehow, and that would not have been ideal.

So, Blake was stuck in Yang’s body, in Yang’s house, with no news about her own body until further notice.

The best thing she could do right now was probably interact with Ruby and see if there was anything else that could be done—even if whatever that was only turned out to be a distraction.

Blake let out a short breath and found her gaze wandering to the mirror again. Yang’s eyebrows were kind of furrowed, a crease between them showing she was contradicted. Even those lilac irises looked more vivid and intense somehow, the laugh lines at their corners doing nothing to make the expression seem more friendly. It was a very _alive_ face—alive with emotion, and Blake was fascinated. She looked at Yang’s lips, the bottom slightly fuller than the upper, which had a very defined cupid’s bow. They had a naturally mischievous quality about them, and yet somehow they held a bit of a pout, as if they couldn't decide whether their owner was hiding something for a prank or for her security.

Blake looked away and let out a longer, sadder sigh. She hoped Yang was okay, too, after all—not just Blake’s own body.

She shook her head and left the room, switching off the light as she went and closing the door, making her way back into Ruby’s room.

Ruby was sitting at her desk this time. Except she was twisted around in her chair so as to lean her forearms on the back of it and also her chin on her forearms, staring right at Blake when she entered. It seemed Ruby had been waiting for her. Blake noticed this and stopped. They were both quiet, apparently trying to figure each other out in the most awkward way possible.

Blake finally decided to cut to the chase. “Your sister didn’t answer my call.” She carefully closed the door.

Ruby raised her eyebrows. “Was your scroll near your body?”

“Not really. I was working out and using Beacon’s obstacle course. But I had my scroll near enough that I would be able to hear it if it went off. And I told your sister that we had to try and contact each other as soon as we could if possible—if or when we switched again. She agreed to that.” Blake hesitantly sat on the bottom bunk again. It creaked a little as her weight set upon it. Her fingers drummed on the blankets. “Ruby,” she said, testing the name out and trying not to be as awkward as her impending question. The girl perked up and nodded. “Is your sister the responsible sort? Like, does she keep her word often?”

Ruby smiled, apparently thrilled by the opportunity to talk about her sister. “Nope!”

Blake’s expression sank.

“Well,” Ruby said again, elaborating, “I wouldn’t say _responsible_. But she definitely keeps her word!”

“Explain.”

“It’s kind of hard. She’s… She’s Yang.” Ruby scratched the underside of her chin thoughtfully. “If she says she’s gonna do something, she does it. And if there’s something she needs to do or something somebody expects her to do, she’ll do it. But, like, she doesn’t _always_ do it for the best reasons.”

Blake felt a little apprehensive. People doing things for not the best reasons usually meant, in her experience, doing things for the wrong reasons. “Is she…reprehensible?”

“Well, like…she’s…a troll. So, yeah.”

That was a bit of a relief—or as much of a relief as it could be. After all, Yang _did_ tell Blake she was a bit of a troublemaker back in school, and if that’s all Yang was, then Blake would be marginally comforted. Things could have been a _lot_ worse. At the very least, Blake could purportedly expect Yang to keep her word, which would be a godsend if it were true. As it was, though, Blake still worried about the state of her body in the middle of that obstacle course.

The silence that had settled between them was then broken by Ruby’s saying, “Also, if you were working out before you…switched—is that how it works?—then I think Yang would probably try to continue working out. She likes working out.”

“I can tell,” Blake said, a little quietly. This was followed by intense mortification. _Why did that leave my mouth?_

Then they were both quiet. Ruby turned back around in her seat and faced Blake, kicking her legs beneath her chair as she held her hands anxiously between them. She was looking at her lap. Blake, meanwhile, did the same—except it was her own lap she looked at, not Ruby's. Obviously.

 _God_.

In any case, if Yang was indeed still working out, then she wasn’t technically breaking any rules. Blake was the only person left in the gym, and she had left her body within the walls of the obstacle course. So, Blake knew her body was safe. But still…she didn’t like putting her trust in someone she barely knew—and, worse yet, she _really_ didn’t like having trust put in her by that same someone she barely knew. That wasn’t a responsibility Blake needed in her life, yet it was one she needed to deal with anyway. She sighed and looked up at Ruby, who looked up at her in kind.

“So, Ruby,” Blake said, starting off totally strong. “Yang and I still don’t know what’s going on between us.”

“Yeah, she told me.”

“Right. And, so, we’re trying to figure out how or why this is happening.” Blake scooted closer to the edge of the bed and, in effect, Ruby. She didn’t understand why, but conversation was unreasonably difficult right now and Blake’s actions felt a tiny bit disorderly in general. It could have been an effect of the body-switching, but, more likely, it was just the effect of awkwardness. “If you wouldn’t mind telling me, do you remember what was happening right before Yang and I switched?”

Ruby fiddled with the fabric of her pajama pants. “Yeah, we were just talking.”

“Just talking? Nothing strange about it?”

“Hmm… Not really.” Ruby wasn’t looking at Blake. She was a terrible liar, it seemed.

Something must have been on her mind—perhaps something other than the plain impossibility of speaking to a duller, less expressive person inhabiting her sister’s body. Maybe that was what she was thinking, and Blake could not blame her for it, but Blake had also been trained to see when certain things were bothering others. She wasn’t great at understanding what the bothersome things were, but it was part of her job as a teacher to identify when things were interfering with her students’ ability to learn. Ruby may not have been learning under Blake, but Blake felt obliged to help out, considering she was Yang’s sister.  

“I don’t have to ask this just for research, you know,” Blake tried, finding Ruby’s gaze. “Even though I don’t know you, I’m still available to help if there’s anything I can do.”

Ruby’s voice was quiet. “No, it’s okay.”

“I don’t want to impose, Ruby, but I think I know what you’re doing when you say ‘It’s okay’ like that. I do the same thing.” Ruby looked away, which caused Blake to do the same. “What I’m trying to say is that… Well, I’d like to help if you’d let me. I may not be the easiest person to talk to, especially like this,” Blake half-heartedly motioned to Yang’s self, “but I’m a decent listener, and I promised Yang I wouldn’t let her relationships with you or anyone else be harmed while I’m in her body.”

Ruby’s eyes began scanning the room, ending up on the same unimportant spot Blake had been looking at somewhere in the shadowy corner. In the reborn silence between them, Blake thought about toying with those shadows, shaping them into a wispy whirlwind or some flowery shape, but she figured it would be inappropriate. Ruby was deliberating with something, her legs continuing to tighten on the hands they squeezed. “Well…” the younger girl drawled, looking somewhere else and then somewhere else after that.

Upon finding whatever it was she was looking for, Ruby’s shoulders sagged and slumped. “Blargh,” she said, dejectedly and under her breath. “Yang wants to move out.”

Blake had wanted to say something comforting or helpful—to offer appropriate counsel to Yang’s sister—but she was finding herself…stumped. Yang wanted to move out. Okay. That meant…she had plans to leave home? Which was a normal thing for a twenty-four-year-old girl to do these days. Obviously, though, this meant something significant for Ruby, else there would have been no “Blargh,” but Blake just wasn’t following.

This not following unfortunately meant not talking, which caused Ruby to shift in her seat with a foreign gaze trained curiously on her. “That’s, uh, not good,” Ruby added, as if clarifying. Then, in a quieter voice, she continued, “Like, you know, if you weren’t getting the memo. I don’t know.”

“I’m…sorry,” Blake said, trying to apologize, she guessed. But then, deciding she didn’t have enough information to be truly apologetic, she asked somewhat matter-of-factly, “What’s wrong with her moving out?”

Ruby let out a deep sigh, staring down at her lap, and Blake saw the similarity with Yang this time—both siblings were incredibly expressive with their entire bodies. “Yang’s always been there for me,” Ruby revealed in a small voice. “And I thought we’d always be together because…well, that’s the way it’s always been. But…” she motioned towards Blake—towards Yang’s body—and started speaking a little faster, as if anxious, “she doesn’t want me with her now. I’m gonna be staying here while she lives her own life in Vale. Without me. And we’ll barely see each other anymore. I don’t know what to do. I just don’t want to be apart from her like this.”

It was Blake’s turn to let out a bit of a sigh. She found her hand going through her hair—Yang’s wild, thick blonde locks—as she tried to piece the situation together and come up with something intelligent to say.

So, Yang moving out was a problem because she was moving out on her own, leaving Ruby behind, and it made Ruby sad. And it made Ruby sad because Ruby felt like she wasn’t wanted anymore—that Yang, the person who seemed to mean very much to her, didn’t want her around anymore.

But Blake had seen the look in Yang’s eyes and saw how it changed when she spoke about Ruby. Yang cared very much about her sister—there was no question about it. After all, Ruby was the only person Yang had chosen to tell the truth to regarding the body-switching dilemma. It hadn’t even been an option that Blake had offered at the time—Yang had specifically asked to tell Ruby, gone out of her way to get Blake’s permission about it. This may not have been much proof to back up what Blake was about to say, especially considering that she didn’t know Yang all that well, but the Faunus believed she was hitting close enough to home to be able to reassure Ruby.

“I think Yang still wants you in her life, Ruby,” Blake finally said, pulling the younger girl’s silver gaze. “She cares about you very much. I know she does. And I’m sure she’ll find ways to visit often and still spend time with you.” It wasn’t much, but it was the most Blake could say with confidence.

Ruby looked to the side, biting her lower lip. She then creased her eyebrows. “…You think so?”

Blake nodded, adding, “And she’ll probably be happy to let you visit her, too. Your sister is just reaching an age where she needs to gain more independence—and the only way she can do that is by moving out and taking on more life responsibility. She’s an adult—and so are you. But I don’t think that means she’s trying to get rid of you. If anything, I would assume that means she trusts you. You’ll both grow out of this to be better people. I think Yang’s decision is mature and admirable.”

Ruby’s eyebrows were still furrowed. She wasn’t looking at Blake, but Blake gave her some time, letting Ruby process the information and figure out if it soothed her. Eventually, though, Ruby met Blake’s gaze. “Thanks, Blake. I, uh, think that helps a little bit. I mean, I wanna hear it from Yang still, but what you said makes sense, I guess. It’s just…” She trailed off.

“It’s just what?”

“I know Yang has to change, but…I don’t want things to change between _us_.”

Blake nodded. “I understand. But if that’s what you want, you should make sure and communicate that. Yang doesn’t strike me as the type to pick up on every hidden desire, but she does strike me as the type to listen when you have a problem.”

For a moment, Ruby’s eyes widened at this epiphany of age-old, works-in-every-situation relationship advice that should have been common sense for everyone. “Wow, Blake,” Ruby said. “I hadn’t even thought about that. But it makes so much sense! I should just be direct with Yang and actually talk about the real issue instead of beating around the bush!”

Good girl. Blake smiled. It was kind of sad how many people avoided communication when they had problems—the White Fang had done it, Blake frequently did it, and now Ruby and Yang were doing it in front of her. Their problem was definitely not simple enough to solve with one piece of advice, but Blake’s advice would at least allow them to start working towards a solution instead of fighting each other and getting nowhere. Blake felt a little out of place giving this advice to Ruby, but the suggestion was solid, even if Blake still needed to work on practicing what she preached.

“Yeah, I think that’ll work,” Ruby reiterated, turning to her desk. She noted what Blake assumed to be the advice on a nearby notepad then underlined it—then underlined it again—and then once more—before turning back to Blake. “Thanks a bunch. I appreciate it. Hopefully Yang will come to her senses and let me live with her.”

Blake winced. Oh dear. “That’s…not…”

“I’m just joking,” Ruby said with a wave of her hand, snickering. “I get what you meant. It’s gonna take me a bit to accept that Yang’s gotta move out, but, you know, I think I’ll get over it. But thanks.”

Blake nodded at Ruby, intending to reply silently and more than a little nonchalantly. But then she realized the end of Ruby’s sentence had been the end of Ruby’s speech. There was nothing more to be said. Yet Blake kept nodding to Ruby’s speech because stopping at this point seemed like it would only ruin the agreement they had arrived to, even though Ruby was starting to look at Blake as though a second head was slowly sprouting from her shoulder.

Then Ruby started nodding, too. “…Yup…” She said, agreeing to something.

“Yup.”

After a moment, it dawned on Blake how ridiculous she was being. _Yup_? Her nodding ceased, and her thoughts turned inward, and all she could hope to do was show whatever amount of restraint her previous blunder would allow.

But Ruby kept on nodding, having caught the awkward fever apparently. She did this for a few more seconds until she noticed that Blake had stopped, looking away. This caused the girl’s nods to peter out slowly and as discretely as possible, bringing her to the point where Ruby was simultaneously nodding and not nodding as she tucked her chin into her chest bashfully, clearing her throat.

“So, um,” Ruby said, looking up at Blake with a guilty, nervous smile. “Can I talk to Yang now?”

Blake found her hand going to the back of her neck to massage it uneasily. She then creased her eyebrows in confusion, struck by how uncharacteristic that move was for her. She dropped her hand back onto her lap. It seemed that along with some amount of brain chemistry being left behind during the body switching, there was also some muscle memory staying with the original body as well. Interesting. Blake could use this habit if she ever needed to pretend to be Yang.

She slowly shook her head and sighed, focusing her attention back on Ruby, who was staring at her strangely again. “I'm sorry, Ruby. Yang and I don't have any control over this issue. It just…happens. We don't know why and we don't know how, and I can't even tell you how long it's going to last. Trust me, I have no desire for this to be happening at all. If I could make it stop and bring Yang back to you immediately, I would.”

This caused yet _another_ silence to ensue, neither girls looking at each other while Ruby processed the information.

“So…” she eventually drawled. “Does that mean we just have to…wait it out?”

Truly, Blake knew exactly what kind of apprehensiveness Ruby must have been feeling. It was the worst. At least Ruby was being fairly reasonable and calm about it, whatever reassurance that was worth. “I guess so,” was all Blake could reply, somewhat tiredly.

Ruby seemed to consider this, her mouth twisting into a bit of a thoughtful frown, but then after apparently failing to find any miraculous solution, she just turned on her chair, back towards her computer and generally leaving Blake to her own devices. She did say, though, “Well, um, just make yourself at home, then. Let me know if you need anything.”

Understanding that Ruby was trying to put an end to the conversation—out of awkwardness, no doubt—Blake merely acknowledged with a movement of her head and then just sat there quietly for a moment. She had no idea what to do. Of course the situation was bothersome for everyone. But there really wasn't much that _could_ be done except do precisely what they were doing now—namely, waiting it out.

Blake’s gaze returned to Ruby. “Do you have any books?”

The Faunus knew there were books in the house, obviously, as she had perused a few in the living room during her last time here in search of clues, but since Blake didn't want to go downstairs and have to possibly interact with the siblings' dad, she figured asking might have been better. Plus, there was a bookshelf literally right in front of Blake on the other side of the room. And Blake didn't want to be rude and touch things that didn't belong to her.

The request seemed to pleasantly surprise Ruby anyway, as the younger girl’s eyebrows rose high and she smiled a little. “Yup, sure do. What do you like to read?”

“Fiction, mostly. Fiction and romance.”

Ruby hopped up from her chair. “Then I've got you! I mean, I don't really have much for romance, but I definitely got fiction.” She went over to the same bookshelf Blake had noticed and ran her fingers over the spines of a few of the books, skirting titles. Finally, she pulled one novel out and approached Blake. “Here, try this. It's one of my favorites.”

Ruby looked genuinely happy to be sharing this, an excited twinkle in her silver irises, and Blake had to smile a little back at her as she took the book. So, they had something in common. They both loved reading. To be honest, Blake was glad to have discovered this. It allowed them to have more normal interactions, and that helped ease the tension and weirdness. Blake could work with that. Plus, once she got to reading, the silence would be justified.

“Thank you, Ruby.”

“No problem! I'll leave you to it. You can lay down or whatever on my bed. Whatever you prefer.” She beamed and then went back to her desk to sit down. After one last glance at Blake, she returned her attention to her laptop.

Blake, meanwhile, quickly read the blurb at the back of the book and determined that the plot was worth delving into. She made herself more comfortable on the bed, not feeling so out of place intruding like that anymore, and opened the novel to the first page.

* * *

The moment Ruby's room and silver eyes disappeared, and the world became dark, Yang was struck with vertigo. Along with the erratic pounding of her heart, her stomach lurched, and the reason _very_ quickly became evident the second she could see again. She was airborne. Feet touching nothing. And the ground was rushing towards her faster than she could process and react to.

Yang only had time to cuss loudly before her face collided with the floor with a hard, unforgiving _thud_ , hands and shoulders and chest next, and then sliding some distance, skin scraping and squeaking until she finally came to a stop. Ow. That was definitely going to leave a mark.

She groaned, panting, ears ringing, muscles protesting, and blearily looked up, trying to figure out what in the world was happening. What a mistake that turned out to be. There were half a dozen Grimm sprinting towards her—snarling, growling Beowolves. But they were _ghosts_. _See-through_ and _glowy_.

“What the—?!”

Yang was not prepared. Not in the least. She had no freaking idea what was going on and how these monsters could even exist. They were actual ghosts—not Gheists. And the specters were getting closer and closer, red eyes ablaze, and all Yang could do was stare, frozen in place, knowing she had to move but being unable to get her body to respond. Their fangs gleamed. Fear clutched her gut, and Yang was about to close her eyes so she wouldn't have to watch herself be torn to shreds when the see-through, glowy Beowolves suddenly disappeared.

Just like that. They were gone. All was silent, except for the deafening beat of Yang's heart in her ears.

Also, except for an unknown voice that seemed to somehow emanate from all directions which said, “Error. Connection lost. Please resync aura to continue.”

It took a while for Yang to understand what was going on. She was so frazzled, so confused and still dealing with a flurry of intense emotions, and it wasn't until she heard that same voice repeat the same message a second time about a minute later that it dawned on Yang that she knew exactly what this was.

 _Way to go, hotshot_. It was Beacon Academy's obstacle course. She had used this several times back when she was a student here. The memories were coming back to her. It all made so much more sense now. She should have recognized it right away. And the Grimm—they weren't ghosts. They were holograms. Yang had been in no actual danger.

“Error. Connection lost. Please resync aura to continue.”

“Oh, my God…” Yang groaned again, and then slowly, painfully, dragged and pulled and pushed herself off the floor. That had been a pretty phenomenal fall. Fortunately for Yang, her aura was passive and therefore always active. She might get a bruise, but that was all.

Well, not _her_ , specifically. Blake might get a bruise. Because Yang was in Blake's body, no doubt about it. They had switched again. Just when Yang had been beginning to think that it may not happen anymore… Here she was. The timing could not have been worse.

Yang pinched the bridge of not-her nose, wincing a little as she tried to calm herself. As much as the situation had been stressful and upsetting, Yang wanted to be with Ruby right now and find something soothing to say to make everything okay again. Instead, this stupid and impossible body-switching problem had forced her to leave Ruby with the impression that her older sister didn't love her enough to want to live together anymore. It was awful and completely not true.

Now all Yang could do was hope Blake didn't mess the whole thing up even more because, to be honest, as considerate as the Faunus seemed to be, she came across as vaguely socially inept. “Ugh! This is so frustrating!” Yang clenched her teeth—and her fists, but found that Blake's muscles lacked the brawler's crushing strength. This frustrated Yang even more, and it was triply frustrating because she couldn't even blame Blake for any of that. Blake was dexterous, not powerful. And it wasn’t fair to blame this predicament on her because it certainly wasn’t her fault. Darn it all.

“Error. Connection lost. Please resync aura to—”

“Alright, I get it!”

“—continue.”

Yang scowled. She needed to cool off. It was hard to determine if she was alone in the gym, but the odds were that she was. Blake seemed like the type to do something this solitary. And if Yang was alone in here, then she could do whatever she wanted as long as she wasn't harming or taking advantage of Blake's body. She knew she was supposed to try contacting the professor, but said professor had decided to not divulge her password in public and Yang had no idea how to get to Blake's home to check the note that was assumingly stuck somewhere on a mirror.

This was so dumb.

Therefore, Yang marched her not-self to the closest wall and slammed her palm on its surface. Immediately, a bright yellow glow contoured her fingers, and the obstacle course's voice said, “Resyncing in progress. Resyncing complete. Start session with current parameters?”

 Next to Yang's hand, a small section of the wall illuminated itself, revealing a holoscreen with the obstacle course's options on it. There was a button at the bottom right that read ‘Start with current presets,’ next to another that read ‘Cancel session.’

The smart thing to have done was cancel the session and find a way to contact Blake. This gave Yang a moment of pause, surprised that she was even second-guessing her decision after already determining that the other option was too complicated. She normally would have just gone straight into it on the whim of emotion. But she didn't know where Blake lived, as previously established. And, if anything, it might help to discover how Blake's body functioned in combat—especially if this body-switching thing insisted on being chronic and extraordinarily random. And Yang still needed to blow off some steam.

So, Yang finally pressed the continue button.

And immediately after, realized she was weaponless. Great. “Just _why_ , Blake?!”

Obviously, Yang wasn’t going to get an answer to that completely sensible question. The obstacle course came to life with the roars of half a dozen angry hologrimm, and Yang's eyes widened, wondering what the heck Blake did to attack the monsters and defend herself if she didn’t have a weapon. Maybe Blake thought she was magical unicorn, for all Yang knew. Unfortunately, there was no time to think or figure out a solution past this dumb assumption.

Yang would just have to improvise. The machine was monitoring her aura anyway—if it got too low, the session would end.

For the moment, Yang dove to the side, avoiding the pack of Grimm and making them crash into the wall and each other. She stood and took several steps back, finding that she was much quicker on her feet than she usually was. It made sense. Blake was lighter and probably more agile. Yang tried positioning herself into her boxing form, but the motion seemed awkward and didn’t make her feel as in control of the situation.

_How am I supposed to do this?_

She wasn’t able to think on this problem for long. One of the Beowolves had recovered and was already running towards her. It jumped, claws out, and Yang swung a punch at it with all the force she could muster. Her fist hit it in the neck, but instead of making the Beowolf stumble off like Yang had expected, it just shook its head and swiped back. Yang was the one who careened off and hit the ground with an _oomph_ , her aura fortunately taking the brunt of the impact.

That hadn’t worked. Blake did not possess Yang’s strength. And now all the Beowolves  were rushing at her again.

Yang stood up and started sprinting in the opposite direction. This had been an absolutely stupid idea. There was no way for Yang to defeat those Grimm without a weapon—and she couldn’t use Blake’s body as a substitute, either, because it was clearly not trained or built for that.

As Yang attempted to form a plan in her mind while she ran, hologrimm growling and howling behind her, the brawler ended up forgetting that she was in an obstacle course. Before she knew it, there was suddenly a wall erecting itself right in front of her, smack in the middle of the path. Collision was imminent. But Yang tried. She veered, wanting to get around the wall, but it wasn’t going to do. At the last second, though, Yang found herself _stepping diagonally up_ the wall instead before propelling herself off to land on the wall perpendicular to it. She slid down to the floor harmlessly, a bit dazed, wondering where that had come from.

The Beowolves were already on her, though. She had no time to think. One swiped and Yang ducked, another lashed forward and Yang jumped over it, landing in a roll to avoid a set of angry jaws, and then she was immediately back on her feet, dodging several ghostly claws at once via a series of backwards acrobatics, flipping and spinning and twisting and feinting. By the end of it, Yang could barely follow what she was even doing anymore, like her body— _Blake's_ body—was going through the motions out of sheer muscle memory alone.

But Yang didn’t know how long this was going to last. She had to keep going and just finish the course. Except, this time, she had a plan. And that plan was to think as little as possible! Yang was great at that, after all. She was a woman of action! The least thinking she did, the more she could just let Blake’s body do its thing.

So, once Yang saw an opening through the mass of monsters, she grabbed the opportunity and just _went_. Obstacle after obstacle were thrown at her—dips and dives, more walls, bars and poles, platforms, moving pillars, holes to hop through, uneven terrain—and Yang felt a rush of adrenaline and glee at how _fast_ Blake’s body tackled each problem like they were just minor hiccups she could easily and smoothly maneuver through. It was almost like riding a rollercoaster.

Even the Grimm barely interrupted this body’s progress. All Yang had to do was take in her surroundings, and Blake’s body seemed to just _know_ how to use it to the best of its advantage, reacting before Yang could worry about what to do next and, in most cases, avoiding the Grimm altogether.

Yang finished the course on an exhilarated note. She was a bit sweaty and only panting a little, and she stood there at the end for a moment, admiring how amazing that had been.

She understood now that Blake’s goal had never been to fight the hologrimm to begin with. Blake had just wanted to get through course, and she must have been really confident in her abilities to not have brought her weapon in case. But the Faunus had every reason to be confident. Yang could have never done that so quickly and so gracefully. The brawler was more of the type to stop and fight, and then keep going—but certainly not with the flourish Blake was capable of. Yang’s body was strong and could take a beating, so she wasn’t so careful about the way she moved. And Blake seemed to just have a vaster pool of tactics under her sleeve.

Without a doubt, Blake’s parkour skills were on mastery levels. And that was _so cool_.

It didn’t matter what Blake said. She really was a ninja.

Yang found herself laughing a little. Yeah, she had really needed that. Her stress had diminished considerably, and although she was still worried about Ruby, she felt like she could make things better now. They would get through this—there was no reason to be so panicky about it.

Remembering Ruby reminded Yang that Blake was currently in the blonde’s body in her sister’s company. And it also reminded Yang that she was supposed to be trying to get in contact with herself—er, Blake. Yang jogged over to the beginning of the obstacle course, still enjoying how light Blake was on her feet, and looked around for a possible placement of the Faunus’ scroll. She noticed a bag and a sweater on the benches nearby, and made her way over to the items.

It seemed a bit taboo to look into Blake’s bag, especially considering that Yang knew she still didn’t have the password for her scroll. The blonde stood there for a second, struggling with the ethicality of the problem. She had already crossed a line she shouldn’t have previously with the groping of Blake’s chest—and the mere thought of that caused Yang to blush darkly again—and it made Yang reticent to impose on any other possible boundaries.

As she debated over what to do, and as she was deciding she might just sit down and drink some water instead, Yang was taken with vertigo, her vision going black. She felt weightless, senseless, floating in abyss, and then there was a notion of speed. Suddenly, Yang slammed against a cushiony wall, and her eyes flew open, jumping as if intensely startled.

“Oh, whoa.”

Yang took in Ruby’s room, blinking a few times, reorienting herself and getting used to her regular, terrible vision and hearing. Yeah, she was definitely starting to empathize with Blake about how going from super-developed-senses-Faunus to why-is-the-world-so-blurry-and-muted-human sucked.

There was a book on Yang’s lap—she recognized it as one of those she used to read to Ruby when she was younger. Yang was still on Ruby’s bed, but now she was lounging against the wall instead of sitting on the edge like she had been before—before Blake…took over.

“Yang?” came Ruby’s piping and worried voice, causing the girl in question to look up, seeing Ruby sitting at her computer again. “I mean…Blake? Er, are you back, Yang?”

Yang slowly sat up. “Uh…define back.”

She barely had time to react before Ruby tackled her, wrapping her older sister in an inescapable hug. Arguably, this was more startling than the hologrimm.

“Yang!” the younger girl cheered. “I’m so glad! It was so weird seeing another person use you like that.”

“Okay…?” Obviously, Blake had done stuff in Yang’s body while Yang was gone—or else Yang wouldn’t have woken up against the wall. But what else had Blake done?

She did not think much on this, however, as Yang felt her sister’s head nestle up against her shoulder. For all the weirdness that this switching stuff involved, it was good to be home. Yang placed a hand on Ruby’s back and heartily patted the younger girl in a half-attempt at a hug, which resulted in a calmed wriggle and stillness.

“So, uh,” Yang said, finding herself speaking a bit deeper than usual. She cleared her throat a couple times. “Apples,” she said. “ _Apples_. There we go.” Her voice was back to normal. “What did you guys talk about?”

“Well, we, uh… Hm… It’s kind of interesting…?”

“It was about our talk, wasn’t it?”

Ruby was silent.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” Yang sighed. The situation was already stressful enough. Now she had to worry about roping Blake into this discussion and leaving her with Ruby’s hurt feelings. “I’m sorry, Ruby. I was thinking selfishly. You’re old enough to want to live on your own, too, and I’m sorry for not thinking about if you’d like to join me.”

“Yang…” From her position, Ruby couldn’t look up at her older sister. “It’s all right. Blake and I talked, and helped me understand your point of view.”

“She what?”

“She convinced me to let you go. You know, by yourself. To your new place. Without me. Without your dear sister who has never done anything wrong.”

“Except guilt-trip me.” Yang smirked.

Ruby contented-wriggled again.

It was manipulative and deplorable, but it allowed Yang to breathe easier. “You really don’t mind me moving out?”

“I mean, I _do_ , but it’s probably for the best that I get over it. Blake just helped make that a bit clearer.” Ruby hummed. “It’s okay. Go be yourself.”

Blake made the situation clearer? Yang hugged Ruby closer and smiled. How that girl had managed to convince Ruby that the move was a good idea—and how she had managed to keep Ruby _calm_ about this—was nothing short of extraordinary. Honestly, Yang had expected to return to a Ruby who was tearful and terrified, not one who was so understanding and warm. The blonde was torn between wanting to send thank-you flowers to Blake’s place (whose address she still hadn’t figured out except for the fact that it was somewhere on Beacon’s campus) and to pick her kitty brain for ways to calm Ruby down. Surely she must have some arcane Faunus or ninja techniques to soothe a small child.

Ruby began to pull away. She smiled at Yang, her eyes a bit misty but her demeanor completely serene. “Don’t do anything dad wouldn’t do when you move out.”

As Ruby began to crawl backwards and stand up from the bed, Yang scooted forward, sitting up and frowning. “Are you sure you’re all right? I can find space for you at the apartment.”

“Yang, seriously. I’ll be fine. I promise.” She sat down at the chair in front of her desk. “I mean, unless that whole body-switching thing causes you to fall on your face with no one around.” For a moment, Yang motioned as if she was going to speak, but Ruby cut her off with a wider smile. “But we can talk about this more tomorrow. I’ve gotta get to sleep in a minute, and this is still a lot for me to process. Think you’ll be okay for tonight?”

“Y-yeah. Thanks, Ruby.” Yang was still kind of dumbfounded with the whole situation—it was why she kept making sure that Ruby was _truly_ fine with everything—because she was so unused to someone else deescalating Ruby’s emotions…this successfully, at the very least. So, Yang stood and tried giving her sibling a reassuring smile before laying a quick kiss on her forehead. “I just want you to know that I still love you. Nothing will ever change that.”

And Ruby smiled a little now, too, a caring glint appearing in her silver irises, which automatically helped appease Yang’s nerves. “I love you, too, Yang. Night night.”

“Night night. Get your rest.”

Yang left Ruby’s room on those words, ensuring she had her scroll and jacket with her, and then gently closed her sister’s door behind her.

Her scroll immediately started buzzing.

Fumbling and practically dropping the said device, Yang quickly went to her room and shut the door, managing to answer the call and bring her scroll to her ear after some more scrambling. “Hello?”

“Um, Yang? This is—”

“Blake!” There was a sudden swell of positive energy that rose inside Yang at the sound of the Faunus’ voice. She had recognized it immediately. “Oh, my God, Blake! How did you do it? Thank you!”

“I... What? How did I do what?”

Yang chuckled a little and sat down on the edge of her own bed, crossing her legs as she grinned. “Ruby was okay with me moving. What did you say to her?”

Blake sounded confused when she spoke. “I just…told her to speak plainly and actually address the issues? Um, I’m glad it worked. I guess I figured I’d make myself useful. But that’s not why I’m calling you.”

It was then that Yang caught the apprehension in Blake’s tone. She really wanted to ask Blake how she knew what the issues that needed addressing were in the first place—which also worried the blonde because that brought on the question of what did Blake _think_ Yang’s problem was—but for now it seemed more important to appease the tension in her voice. Yang sat somewhat straighter on the bed. “Yeah, no problem. What’s up?”

Blake let out a bit of a sigh. “I’m just concerned that you didn’t answer my call after we switched. What were you doing?”

“I kept working out. I’m sorry I didn’t answer your call—I couldn’t get to your scroll soon enough. But you were alone in the gym and I figured that if I…” Yang’s voice trailed off as she realized that what she was about to say would probably sound wrong.

“If you…?”

Yang chuckled awkwardly. “If I learned how your body moves it might make this switching thing easier…?” It had definitely sounded better in her head.

There was a pause on the other line. It stretched on long enough that dread started to settle in Yang’s stomach. Maybe she should just abide to the rules Blake had made from now on—this wasn’t an easy situation and Blake was clearly (and understandably) aversive to the whole thing.

“Okay.”

Oh. Yang’s eyes widened. “O-okay? You’re fine with it?”

“It’s an acceptable explanation, so long as you feel that me doing the same thing in your body is also reasonable.”

A smile crept back to Yang’s lips as her shoulders drooped in relief. “Yeah, totally. Just don’t—” She cut herself off. She had been about to jokingly recommend that Blake not break anymore of Yang’s bones, but that seemed pretty dumb. Of course Blake wouldn’t do that. Blake had saved Yang’s life. And Yang had groped Blake’s chest. If anything, Yang probably deserved to have some other bone broken—like, her apparent lady boner. “Er, never mind,” she corrected herself sheepishly. “So! What did you tell Ruby that was so magical?”

“Just that it’s normal that you’d want to move out because you’re an adult now and you need your space. I told her you still cared about her and that you’d still visit sometimes.”

Yang was silent as she assessed this. She supposed that the circumstances maybe weren’t _that_ special—it seemed Blake hadn’t actually said anything mindboggling, but it nevertheless made her information accurate. And Ruby had accepted it. But still. It made Yang feel oddly _seen_ that Blake recognized these simple facts about her and had defended Yang’s perspective with them. “Thank you, Blake. I really appreciate it.” She paused. “And your body is super agile.”

_Wait! No! Why did that leave my mouth?_

“Um, okay… You're welcome. I mean, thanks? Ugh. I have to, um, put Silver to sleep—I mean, myself. I have to put myself to sleep. To bed. _God_.”

They were both in quiet awe as they processed whatever that was supposed to mean.

“...Goodnight, Yang.”

Blake abruptly hung up.

“Goodnight…Blake.” Yang was already grinning, feeling inexplicably giddy. Well, maybe not inexplicably. Ruby was okay, and it was all thanks to Blake. And Blake was an adorable, thoughtful dork, and Yang had never felt like she was in better hands. Everything was all right. Her dad might have still been sitting in the living room, coming to terms with an impending loss in his life, but that wasn’t the most important part to Yang. He would deal with it. And she could be an adult and make her own decisions and be _free_.

Yang quickly changed into her pajamas and sent a few goodnight kiss emojis to Sun, and then burrowed herself into the blankets. With a contented huff, Yang closed her eyes and was soon asleep with a bit of a smile on her lips.

* * *

* : In the RWBY world of _Piece of Mine_ , the laws of physics are studied but not understood. Everything we know about physics in our world does indeed apply to the world of Remnant, but only conditionally. This is to say that the laws of physics are the same in both worlds, unless they’re not, and there are numerous, frequent times when nothing matters and nobody knows anything because things don’t work and we don’t know why. Therefore, in this world of Remnant, the people who try to study physics know both something and nothing, thus making physics a pseudoscience and all the physicists in the world mad scientists. But not, like, supervillain mad. Just frustrated and in need of a nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE RUMORS OF MY DEATH HAVE BEEN GREATLY UNDEREXAGERATED. FOR THE PAST FEW MILLENIA SINCE POSTING THE LAST CHAPTER, I HAVE BEEN BEHIND ENEMY LINES, TAKING FIRE FROM AGENTS OF DARKNESS WHO WOULD SEE THE FREE WORLD AND ALL ITS LESBIAN ANIME WAIFUS ELIMINATED. I AM A HERO, AND YOU ARE WELCOME FOR MY SERVICE. 
> 
> But in real news, hi. I have officially finished drowning myself in this chapter, and now I am back.
> 
> But not for long~


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